The Universe and You
by daydayrivers
Summary: Santana is left at the mercy of a helpless Brittany and finds herself realizing that the pair have something more than just a typical friendship. Brittana.
1. Prologue

**Warning: **Brief language**  
****Disclaimer: **Glee is not mine. Title taken from KT Tunstall's 'Universe & U'.

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Prologue

"Brittany, you have to wake up." Her mind was racing faster than she could process her thoughts, her rationality gone along with the part of her that she felt she was losing as she watched the motionless girl that lay before her—leaving behind a jumbled mess of confusion and chaotic emotions.

"Brittany, _please_ wake up! B, please..." She couldn't help but gently shake the body in the hospital bed.

"You can't do this to me. You have no idea how much I need you." Her voice began to waver as she leaned over Brittany's still body. She placed a hand to the blonde's forehead and tucked a stray piece of hair behind her ear. Using the inside of her thumb, Santana ran her finger along the profile of the girl in front of her. She traced along the edge of her forehead, down her cheek bone and jaw, and eventually stopped on the point of her chin. Her skin was so soft and warm, even now.

"I need you to be strong—be strong for me." A lone tear escaped her eye and slid down her cheek. She didn't even bother to hide it or wipe it away. There was no reason to; she was alone with her best friend. What did it matter if her best friend saw her cry? That's what best friends are there for, anyway. And what did it matter, especially if her best friend was unconscious.

Santana Lopez did not cry often. She was a rock. Hard as stone and thick as a brick wall. Not much got through, but when it did, she could often control herself. But none of that seemed relevant that day.

Another tear slowly slid down her cheek, this time, from a different eye. Being careful not to put too much weight overtop the girl, she bent over and rested herself atop the blonde's side. Then, she brought the blonde's hand to her own and intertwined their fingers. First, she linked their pinkies. Stopping to observe the gesture, she couldn't help but stare at their symbol of friendship. It was such a simple gesture, almost juvenile, yet it meant so much. She brought the two fingers to her lips and kissed the adjoining appendages tenderly. Then she began to lace more fingers together, slowing moving one at a time so each finger hooked its opposite until their hands were an uncomfortable mess of interlocking fingers. She brought the hands up to her lips and kissed the back of Brittany's palm. Lowering the hands again, she softly removed her hand and laced it normally with the thin hand of her best friend and rested them atop the girl's chest.

"Santana?"

The Latina slowly turned her head to face the door of the hospital room to find her mom standing in the doorway.

"It's getting late and you have school in the morning, honey," she whispered as she took in the emotions dripping down her daughter's cheeks. "Maybe you should be heading home now." She began to take a step into the room in hopes of comforting her distressed daughter, but was quickly halted.

"No, Mom. Stop. I'm fine, okay? I just need some time." She struggled to maintain control of her words as she glanced between the blank expression of her friend and that of the worried look on her mother's face. "And no, I'm not leaving her."

"Santana—"

"Mom, I really don't give a shit. She's my best friend, I can't leave her. Listen, my car's already here. Just go home and I'll drove myself home when I'm ready."

"When will that be?"

"I don't know. I could care less about school right now, okay? I promise I'll be fine and I'll come straight home after I'm done here. No stupid shit, promise." She fixed her gaze onto her mother, her eyes dark but pleading and her expression unmoving.

The older woman let out a sigh. "Fine, but text me if you decide to stay overnight." And with that she walked away and closed the door behind her.

Santana turned back to Brittany. Her lips quivered as more tears began to escape her eyes. One ran the length of her face before dripping down to their intertwined hands, pooling across their fingers. More began to quickly follow and join it.

"I'm sorry I let this happen to you, B," she whispered. "I promise I won't let anything or anyone hurt you ever again. I know that's a stupid promise to make, but I'm going to try to do everything in my power to make it happen. And I'm so sorry that this had to happen to you. You of all people don't deserve it. I'm sure you'd say that none of this is my fault, but I need to blame someone for this. So I have to blame myself, because there's no else I can think of to blame." She sniffled and wiped away the overwhelming amount of tears in her eyes with her free arm's forearm. "Brittany, you're my best friend. You know me better than anyone, and you've always been there for me. So I promise that as long as your heart is still beating, I will be here for _you. _You know,_ s_ometimes, I don't know if you realize how much you really mean to me. But you're my everything. Without you, I'd be lost. You're more than just a best friend to me, B. I love you. I hope you realize that."

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**A/N: **So obviously this was like foreshadowed prologue. If you're interested in finding out more, be sure to let me know. If enough people want more, then I'll write more. If not, I don't want to waste my time. I don't plan on this being too long, but I'd like to take advantage of the week I have before school starts again. Also, title was made up at four in the morning. So it may change.


	2. Calm Before the Storm

**Warning: **Santana's dirty mouth  
**Note: **All your reviews made me happy, so like I promised, here you go! Also, since the first chapter was foreshadowing what's to come, we've got to back it up a little and find out just how everything went down.  
**Disclaimer: **Unfortunately, Glee is not mine.

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Calm Before the Storm

"You can't be in an open relationship, B."

"Why not?"

"Well first off, I do not approve. It's one thing to be friends with benefits, and it's another to have sex with someone just for the sex. But only _one_ lucky guy gets to have _my_ best friend. And secondly, you're in one with Wes Brody—might I remind you that he's _seven—_your motocross coach, and your cat. That's just fucking weird." Santana couldn't help but let out a disgusted giggle as the two patrolled the halls of William McKinley before class.

"No it's not. Any why do I have to be exclusive?" Brittany spoke with her usual lighthearted tone, but a pang of defensiveness could be heard escaping to the surface.

"Because I said so. Anyway, everyone's going to think you're a whore."

"No, they're going to think I'm awesome! I've got game, woman!"

"Brittany, that's dumb."

"No..." The blonde's voice trailed off and she hung her head slightly as the duo walked. "You shouldn't say that."

"But really, B! You don't want them to think you're easy. You want them to think you're bad ass and in charge." Santana stood up a little straighter as she walked, only further exuding what she knew she already exerted. "Oh, and chicks before dicks."

"Whatever," Brittany huffed. "You're a hippogriff, anyway."

Santana let out a loud snort and had to cover her mouth to keep from laughing at the taller girl. "You mean a hypocrite?"

"Yeah, that too, Buckbeak." She crossed her arms over her chest and scowled.

"And how so?"

Santana was no where near angry. She enjoyed Brittany's logic and appreciated the way her friend saw the world. Her point of view was definitely different and often refreshing; it was blunt, honest, and overwhelmingly simple. More than anything, Brittany saw truth and wasn't afraid to speak her mind. Despite her nonsensical ramblings and being a little intellectually inept, Brittany was much more intuitive than people often gave her credit for. It was one of the things that Santana found so appealing about the blonde. After years of friendship, she had learned to successfully decipher her "Brittany-isms" and unlike many, was able to respect her supposed deranged way of thinking.

"You and Puck aren't exclusive."

"I'm not with Puck." The Latina furrowed her brow and narrowed her eyes at the blonde, albeit playfully.

"Sure you aren't." Brittany rolled her eyes. "You guys are worse than Fleetwood Mac."

"Hey now!" Santana rebutted, her voice playful but her expression serious. "Let's not play the breakup-makeup-band-card."

"It's true!"

"Hmph." Santana snorted again, this time crossing her own arms against her body. "How about we both just drop it because obviously we don't see eye to eye here." She suggested.

Brittany looked down at the Latina and cocked her head to the side in confusion. "San, I know you're insecure about your height and all, but you're going to need to grow a little more before we can see eye to eye. Either that or I'm going to have to shrink..."

In that moment, Santana couldn't help but facepalm. She shook her head in disbelief, but began to laugh as she removed her hand and let it drop to her side. Side-stepping closer to Brittany, she threw an arm around the blonde's shoulders and pulled her against her side. "You're adorable," she said through chuckles, "have I ever told you that?"

"Eh, you've mentioned it once or twice." Brittany replied with a smile.

The pair arrived at Brittany's first class of the morning and stopped outside of the door just as the bell rang. As the students in the hallway began to head every which way for class, a few intermittently shuffled past the two and through the door, trying their best to avoid glancing in their general direction in hopes to avoid the wrath of a random Santana outburst. One of whom, however, was unfortunately too busy with her nose buried in a book to notice either of the girls and barreled straight into Santana's back. Temporarily losing her balance, she shifted her weight backwards in an attempt to steady herself but was thrown to the ground by the surprised death glare that came from an angry Santana. "Watch where you're fucking going, hobbit!" She spat.

"S-S-Sorry, Santana," Rachel stuttered as she stared wide-eyed into the scowl of the girl before her. "I was just so caught up in my copy of 'The Importance of Being Barbra: The Brilliant, Tumultuous Career of Barbra Streisand' that I guess I didn't see you—"

Santana shook her head and narrowed her eyes, "Does it look like I care, manhands?"

"Not particularly, no." Rachel replied softly.

"Exactly. Now get the fuck out of my sight before shit goes dizown."

"Yes, ma'am." The smaller brunette squeaked as she picked up her book and made her way into the classroom's doorway.

"Hey, Rachel!" Brittany offered a friendly smile as the girl passed her.

"Hi, Brittany," she replied, head down and marching away as fast her short legs would allow.

"Now where were we?" Santana continued, directing her attention back to her friend. "Oh yeah, so make sure you wait here after class if I'm not here already. No guarantees that I can sneak out of class early again. So if I'm not here, don't move, okay? I don't want a repeat of last week." Her voiced trailed off as she thought back to the previous week when Brittany had forgotten where her second period class was and somehow wandered across town to the neighboring city.

Brittany blushed and stared at her feet. "Yeah, sorry about that."

"Hey, don't worry about it. As long as it doesn't happen again."

Interrupting their conversation, the second bell rang, signaling the start of class.

"Ah, shit. I'm going to be late again," she sighed. Throwing her arms out, she quickly wrapped Brittany into a hug and rushed off to class. "Love ya', B!" She yelled over her shoulder.

"You too, S!" Brittany replied with a smile before entering her classroom.

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**A/N: **So, this was extremely anticlimactic and I'm sure you're all wondering why this is even relevant to the prologue, but I assure you, there are little (and by little I mean microscopic) hints that I've dropped here and there throughout the chapter that foreshadow what will happen. Just stick with me, things will happen soon. And by soon, I mean, probably next chapter. Obviously, like the title of this chapter, I wanted a little happy cuteness before I get evil and make bad things happen to our girls. Also, I totally picture playful Brittana banter when they're not being adorable together. Thanks for reading!


	3. Lost

**Warning: **Language  
**Disclaimer: **The closest I am to owning Glee is owning Season 1 on DVD.

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Lost

Santana barreled down the crowded hallway. She moved at a near sprint, her legs carrying her as fast she could safely maneuver the overpopulated halls. She side-stepped here, dodged there, ducked to avoid a swinging locker door, and even rammed a freshman square in the chest with her shoulder thrown out in front of her body, causing them to fly off their feet and somersault to the floor as she continued her sprint across the school without even a backwards glance. At this rate, it was astonishing that Ken Tanaka had not yet recruited her to the football team.

Even amongst everything that was happening around her, the entire time she ran she had but one thing on her mind: _Brittany._

To her extreme frustration and dismay, her math teacher just wouldn't let her out of class early. Apparently, skipping class to go get a latte just wasn't acceptable anymore, especially after she'd found a way to talk herself out of class everyday straight for the last month. She was desperate though, so she even resorted to pulling out some of her back-pocketed emergency excuses:

"_Mrs. Davis, __t__he baby I arranged for nine months ago is arriving and I think this is the time it's being delivered."_

"_Mrs. Davis, I'm bleeding out my vagina. I think I need to see my hematologist._

"_Mrs. Davis, I have a bunch of old parking tickets, and if I don't pay them now, I'm going to be arrested!"_

Or even, (to her embarrassment):

"_Mrs. Davis, I have death cramps!"_

But her teacher wouldn't buy it. So she sat the entire period at her desk, scowling at the clock, arms crossed tightly against her chest, chewing a piece of gum obnoxiously loud. When the bell signaling the end of first period finally did ring, she catapulted herself out of her seat and made a beeline for the door, stiff-arming anyone that got in her way.

With Brittany's classroom just feet away, Santana turned on the brakes and slid to a stop just outside the door. Panting, she looked about left and right in search of her best friend. But there was no tall blonde to be seen. She did a double take in all directions, her heart beginning to race and her adrenaline to pump. "She should be right here..." She mouthed, her voice barely even a whisper.

Just at that moment, one Rachel Berry marched out of Brittany's classroom. Tilting her head to the side in question, she tapped a visibly frenzied Santana on the shoulder. "Santana, is everything okay? You look distraught."

Santana whipped around at a speed that Rachel found practically inhuman and latched on to the shorter girl's shoulders, pressing her rather abruptly and vehemently against the wall. Her eyes were wide from anxiety and she looked all but rabid as she snarled at Rachel as she spoke.

"Have you seen Brittany?" Her words came out frantically, sounding like one big word rather than a coherent sentence.

"Uh..."

"Spit it out, Bilbo!"

"Okay, okay!" Rachel conceded, trying her best to throw up her hands defensively, but having a hard time getting around Santana's death grip. "She was in class with me, then the bell rang so I saw her get up and leave the room. I swear. Doesn't she normally wait for you or something?"

The Latina let out a frustrated grunt. "You are useless, Berry!" And with that she turned on her heels and bolted to the nearest girls' bathroom to check inside. No cigar. So she dashed back to the classroom and scanned the large hallway for any signs of the blonde and in hopes that Brittany had for some reason wandered away briefly but found her way back. But again, no luck.

A confused freshman eyed her suspiciously as she spastically scanned the hall. "TURN. AROUND." She barked, eyes wide and teeth bared when her eyes locked with his. The small freshman scampered away before the Latina could even offer him a second glance.

Santana had always been a fairly calm person. Even in tough situations she found it relatively easy to stay as cool as a cucumber. She partially accredited it to her "I-don't-give-a-shit" attitude and her (as rumor had it) lack of a soul. In actuality, she did have a lot of feelings. In fact, she _could_ be a very emotional person. She just found it easy to cover up. Showing emotion meant being weak—only losers showed weakness—and she was far from a Lima-Loser. She was stone-cold Santana Fucking Lopez: head bitch, large and in charge—a chip off the ol' Sue Sylvester block.

But if there was anything that could ever emotionally fuck with Santana, it was Breadstix and Brittany. (Perhaps she had a weakness for B's, but who knows?) For one thing, nothing can come between a girl and her sticks, and secondly, Brittany had been friends with Santana for what felt like forever. It had been BFAFS—best friends at first sight, the two immediately hitting it off. Even as a young girl, Santana had been extremely hostile, but somehow, using her adorable dim-wits, but honest charm and infectious smile, Brittany found a way to dance around Santana's multiple lines of defense and wiggle her way straight to the Latina's heart.

Brittany had been with Santana through just about everything. They tried out for Cheerios together, went on double dates together, practically lived together on weekends and summers, cried over boys together, and had just generally grown up together. Often seen as attached at the hip, the pair were practically inseparable, only being forced apart when they had but no other option.

Although Santana accepted Brittany's atypical way of thinking, she often had to acknowledge that sometimes Brittany's rationale only lead to trouble. The blonde could easily find a way to do the seemingly impossible and this, unfortunately, had its consequences. Brittany was far from dumb, her logic just different than most. It was for this very reason, though, that Santana found it her duty as official best friend to always look out for the blonde. By accepting the role of the inseparable BFF, she had taken a silent vow to protect Brittany from any and all evils, whether it be boys or bitches, and in most cases, to protect her from her own self. When referred to in context to Brittany, self-harm took on a whole new meaning.

Even as Santana stood in the hallway, surrounded by seemingly endless amounts of teenagers, the dark-haired girl couldn't help but feel alone. She had failed to keep track of her often helpless friend, and thus had let herself down. But even more importantly, she had failed Brittany—her one and only _best friend_. If Brittany was hurt, it would be all her fault. If Brittany wandered off and went missing for days at a time yet again, it would be all her fault.

Standing there, she couldn't help but feel her emotions begin to take hold of her. An undesired wave of fear began to overwhelm her senses as she only imagined what kind of horrible situations Brittany could get herself into without the watchful eye of her overly-compassionate best friend and protector. Her hands trembled at her side as she gazed into space, her frustration and panic quickly fading and an assortment of pain, anguish, and hopelessness beginning to take over.

However, a soft hand on her arm snapped her out of her daze. Santana's gaze quickly directed itself to the pale hand on her right arm and slowly followed it up to a familiar face standing beside her.

"Quinn?"

"Hey, S. Um, are you alright? You don't look too good."

"I'm fine." She lied, rather obviously.

"If you say so. But uh..." Quinn trailed off, trying to find a way to put her words together, "you do know that Brittany's around the corner on the floor in the fetal position? Right?"

At the mention of Brittany's name, Santana's heart skipped a beat. She let out a loud sigh and her body visibly relaxed itself, knowing that Brittany was safe and still in the building. But then, as Quinn's words registered in her brain, her hands balled up into fists so tight that her knuckles turned to white, her skin blanched as the blood drained from her face, and her eyes went so wide that she could have easily been mistaken for Ms. Pillsbury's mexican cousin.

"OH SHIT."

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**A/N: **Hope you enjoyed! I apologize if the beginning/middle-ish of this chapter is no bueno. I definitely like the end a lot more. Remember, reviews are motivation!


	4. Alone in the Dark

**Warning: **Language  
**Disclaimer: **I do not own Glee.

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Alone in the Dark

Class was over and Santana was no where in sight. Even with the crowded halls, Brittany was tall enough to get a good glimpse of nearly every head. It just happened that none of those heads belonged to her best friend.

Brittany liked to believe that she was an independent person. It wasn't that she didn't need anyone, she had just always had a strong desire to do as much as possible on her own. The only problem with that was that she often A: forgot what she was doing or B: failed miserably at said task. In some cases, both.

She honestly put in as much effort as she could physically muster into just about everything she did, but sometimes, things just didn't go as planned. But that's where Santana stepped in. Her best friend was always there to assist her with even the seemingly smallest of tasks. She wasn't controlling, though. Brittany was always given a chance to try for herself first and foremost. It was then that if she failed, Santana would be right there, willing and able to help. Brittany greatly appreciated the Latina's understanding of her incompetence and willingly accepted whatever Santana was able to offer. Even if Santana did ridicule her sometimes, it was all out fun and love. She would never seriously talk down to the blonde, especially when it came to her logic or impotence. That was a soft spot and a big no-no, and if _anyone_ ever spoke of it to Brittany, Santana would smack them down like the hand of God.

Without any sign of Santana, Brittany immediately began to feel an overwhelming amount of fear engulf her senses. Instantly, she was hit with a wave of isolation and loneliness that only led to a bout of confusion. Santana had told her she'd be there, had she not?

It wasn't that she was necessarily dependent on Santana, but more that without her, she sort of felt...well, lost. Brittany had to come know the world as an often confusing and dark place. But Santana had always been the light at the end of the tunnel, guiding her to safety with a strong protective hand. For that very reason, the typical relationship of "best friend" had been redefined.

Feeling overwhelmed by her sudden solitude, she began to pace the hall. If Santana wasn't there, she would have to find a way to continue her day on her own. There was just one issue with that, though. She had no idea where her next class was. After years of being escorted to class, it wasn't something that she payed much attention to. Randomly picking a direction, she began to slowly maneuver the hall, her confidence lacking as she pouted and walked with her head down.

Rounding the first corner she arrived at, she took a few steps and then came to a slow stop in the middle of the hall. A few people, not noticing the change in pace, walked straight into the blonde, but she didn't seem to take much notice. The rest, rather, parted around her like the red sea.

Glancing around the unfamiliar building, she couldn't help but feel scared. It all felt so foreign and awkward. "I'm so lost..." she mumbled.

Just as Brittany was about to continue her quest, yet another person ran into her from behind. Although this time, the collision was forceful enough to push her over and send her tumbling to the ground.

"OOF!" She sputtered as she threw her hands out before her to break the fall. Luckily, as a dancer, the blonde was able to do so fairly gracefully and without much discomfort. Even so, however, she was left splayed across the floor feeling slightly more confused than she usually was.

"Watch where you're going, retard!"

She turned to find an annoyed looking Azimio glaring down at her from behind his one man posse consisting of Dave Karofsky. Peering up at him, her expression was a heartbreaking combination of misery and disorientation.

"That's not very nice," she whispered just loud enough for the two boys to hear.

"Oh yeah? Well it's not very nice for you to be in my way!" Azimio countered.

"I'm sorry about that," she mumbled, scratching her head, "but you really shouldn't say that."

"And why not?" Karofsky chimed in.

"Because some people find it offensive."

"She would know!" Azimio said, turning to his entourage, the both of them bursting into fits of laughter.

"Are you saying I'm a retard?" Brittany asked.

"I don't know, dumb ass. You tell me." Azimio continued to laugh at the poor blonde half lying, half sitting on the floor.

"I'm not dumb," she replied in a murmur. "You guys are just too big of jerks to understand. And I'm smarter than both of you jockstraps, anyways."

"Oh, _excuse me?" _Karofsky bellowed, accentuating the words as he pushed past Azimio. "You really must be brain-dead to have just said that to me." He took a step closer to Brittany so that his tall frame was just inches from the heap of the blonde on the floor. "Nobody, and I mean _nobody_ talks down to me. Or in this case, up." He spat venom with his words.

Only seconds after that remark was made, Azimio put a hand on Karofsky's shoulder. "Dude, what the hell are you doing? You're not going to hit her are you? You can't hit a girl!" He hissed.

Leaning in close to lessen the space between them, Karofksy whispered, "No, but she doesn't know that. She just needs a few words of encouragement. That'll put her back in her place; teach her not mess with the Karofskinator!"

Turning to face Brittany, he extended a foot and used it to push the lanky blonde backwards towards the lockers. It wasn't so much the force of the nudge that did so, rather Brittany's wide-eyed fear of Dave and his merciless reputation. Crawling backwards with her hands, she kept her eyes pinned to Karofsky and Azimio who slowly inched towards her with each movement she made until her back was pressed against the cold metal of the lockers.

"I'm—I'm—I'm sorry," she stuttered. "Please don't hurt me." She pulled her legs together against her chest and angled her body towards the lockers to defend herself.

"You know, Azimio, by herself, she's pretty pathetic." Karofsky let out a cold laugh.

"I see what you mean, dude." Azimio chimed in.

"Without Santana, you're pretty much nothing. I mean, if you didn't have her, you'd probably be just another face in the crowd. No popularity, no Cheerios, no nothing." Karofsky sneered. "You'd be so screwed. What would little Brittany do without her babysitter?" The two laughed again.

"Don't talk about Santana like that. And she's not my babysitter," Brittany replied, her voice timid and shaky.

"Hey, don't you tell me what I can and cannot do, retard!" Karofsky seethed. He took a step forward, faking a lunge at the terrified girl.

Quickly covering her eyes with her hands, she tensed her body to prepare for the blow. But when it did not come, she slowly placed her hands back down to hug her chest and opened her eyes slowly to reveal big, sad puppy dog eyes. "I'm sorry! I'm just so lost!" She cried. And with that, she gathered her body and tossed herself to the floor. She lied hunched over on her side on the floor, her arms encircling her clenched legs that were bent at the knees. She couldn't help but tremble and writhe against sobs that were beginning to wrack her body.

It wasn't just Karofsky and Azimio that had done this to her, though. It was everything. She felt alone and terrified, lost in a place that she knew she should be familiar with. The feeling of absolute helplessness tore tears from her eyes as they began to slide down her pink cheeks.

"What the fuck?" Karofsky whispered, albeit loudly, to his wingman.

"Dude, I think you went a little far there. I mean, look at her."

"How was I supposed to know that she was going to have a mental breakdown like a fucking moron?" He raised his voice defensively.

"_Excuse me? _What did you just call her?" The jocks simultaneously turned to follow a loud voice near the end of the hallway.

Standing there, hands balled up into fists, eyes ablaze with rage and fury, stood a very, _very _infuriated Santana, who looked like she wanted nothing more than the blood of two oversized jocks on her hands.

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**A/N: **So I apologize if this chapter was no good. I had a hard time being mean to Brittany. I feel awful. But on a much happier note, thank you for all the wonderful reviews. It fills me with so much happiness and is an awesome reward to wake up to after writing until three in the morning the previous night. Not to mention, they're quite inspiring. I enjoy hearing your predictions!

And, just thought you all would enjoy this little tidbit, I was watching the "Dolphins are just gay sharks" scene from Hell-O, multiple times, (because apparently I'm an obsessed creeper) and if you watch Santana's glass, the lemon inside her drink continually appears and then reappears. Yes, this is my life. I am aware of how pathetic it can be.


	5. Throwdown

**Warning: **Santana's mouth combined with Karofsky and Azimio is dirtier than Hugh Heffner  
**Disclaimer: **Glee does not belong to me

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Throwdown

There were a number of things Santana could do. She could pull a Mean Girls and go into bat-shit-crazy bestial mode and get down on all fours and pounce on the clueless jocks; settle it animal style. Or she could just as easily sprint and lay them out or send a flying roundhouse kick to either of their chests. Ultimately, having some sort of weapon would have been ideal, however, her Cheerios uniform unfortunately lacked any form of useable pocket to store one in.

_ Now, Santana. I know you're about to go out of your fucking mind right now, but you need to stop and think. Let's not do anything too drastic._

The key word being '_too_'.

Instead, she balled her fists up at her sides and began to quickly march over to the three of them. By now, the kids filling the hall had begun to take notice of the debacle unfolding itself in front of them. Clearing the way, they stood pressed against the wall, forming a semi-circle in the area surrounding Karofsky, Azimio, and the shaking ball of a blonde curled up on the floor. As Santana approached, she didn't bother having to shove people out of her way to get to where she needed to be. They simply cleared a path, stepping out of her way and giving her a clear lane to effectively advance to the scene of the crime.

With each and every step she took it felt like time was slowing down. Like she was moving in slow motion, as if she had spidey-sense or something. Although she kept her stare fixated on her targets, she could see each and every face she passed out of the corners of her eyes. Some looked absolutely terrified, like they were scared of whatever hell Santana was about to bring; while others grinned and stood with their mouths agape, their bodies tense in anticipation for the inevitable throwdown. Either way, shit was about to go down.

The closer she came to them, the more enraged she could feel herself become. She wanted to throw them to the ground and beat the bloody hell out of each of them until they were reduced to nothing but a crimson, grisly mess. But at the same time, she definitely did not want to go to jail and she couldn't afford to be suspended or expelled. She had to teach these boys a lesson, though. No one fucked with Brittany and got away with it. _Ever._

She had nearly reached them. "I said, _what did you just call her_?" She was practically yelling now, this time the question more than just a method of grabbing their attention.

Karofsky turned to face her. "I didn't say nothin'."

"It didn't sound like nothing," she snarled back.

Azimio quickly turned away from Brittany to face Karofsky. "Dude, what the hell are you doing? She's going to _kill_ you." His voice was low, but the hall was now quiet enough to hear a pin drop. That being the case, Santana was all ears.

"Pretty much," she said, her voice deadpan.

"Look, wait. Santana!" Azimio faced the girl and held up his hands in front of his body defensively.

She came to sudden halt just feet away and glared at him.

"We weren't actually going to hurt her, I swear. And we didn't really mean any of that. It's just that Dave over here," he patted Karofsky on the arm, "is in a really bad mood today and doesn't know how to bite his tongue. I promise it won't happen again."

"What the fuck, man?" Karofsky shouted, turning towards Azimio and shoving him. "Why'd you have to throw me under the bus?"

"Dude, shut up! If it wasn't for you and your giant ego then maybe we wouldn't be about to get our asses beat by a _girl!" _He gritted his teeth as he talked and made sure to put as much emphasis on the last word as possible.

"Well if you hadn't been stupid enough to not watch where you're going then maybe we wouldn't be in this situation!" Karofsky countered.

"Excuse me, boys," Santana chimed in. "I don't mean to interrupt your quarrel, but I'm pretty sure I couldn't give a flying fuck about which one of you is to blame. All I know is that both of you shits are way too close to Brittany right now and I'm about to go ape-shit crazy."

Stepping up to them, she latched onto Azimio's collar and abrasively tugged it downwards so that his eyes were level with hers. "Don't you even think about moving," she warned through gritted teeth. She pulled him towards her enough so that his balance would be off and then quickly shoved him backwards, causing the large teen to collide with the floor. Santana shot him another threatening look as she turned towards Karofsky and took a step in his direction.

She curled her hands into his collar as well, this time, pushing the boy back and slamming him against the lockers. Once she had Karofsky at eye level with her she hoisted her knee and placed it in-line with his groin, a threat that she was all too willing to carry out.

"Now listen to me, you little fuck," she growled. "I don't care how this started, what you said, or what you did. All I know is that Brittany is curled up on the floor crying right now and that is _not_ acceptable. And don't fucking play dumb with me. I may not have seen the whole thing, but I saw enough. I heard what you called her."

Karofsky swallowed hard against the knuckles that were wrapped in his collar and pressed uncomfortably against his neck.

"Brittany is not a moron and she is not dumb. Don't you ever say anything like that to her ever again. Actually, how about you don't say anything to her at all? Yeah, I think I prefer that. In fact, I don't even want you to look at her. Do you hear me?"

Karofsky nodded slowly.

"And I swear," she moved in closer to him, their faces just inches apart, her hot breath dancing over his skin as she spoke slowly and heinously, "if you ever even so much as _think_ about her, I will beat you down so hard you won't know what hit you. I promise to make each and every day of your life a living Hell, and will personally cut off your balls with a dull machete. Maybe then your ego will match the size of your dick." She nearly spat venom on the last few words.

"You know, you're as fucking crazy as you're girlfriend." Karofsky retorted.

Santana bared her teeth at the remark and felt her chest puff up in fury. "She's not my girlfriend!" She hissed. Anger boiling up inside her, she could no longer control herself. The infuriated Latina threw Karofsky back as hard as she could against the lockers, causing his head to whip backwards and impact with the metal. With much satisfaction, she pulled her right arm back and sent a hard right hook straight to the hockey player's nose. A shiver-inducing crunch of bones reverberated in her ears. She wasn't finished, though. With her knee still raised at his groin, she thrust it forward as hard as she muster, causing him to let out a loud squeal and double over. She sidestepped the large body to avoid being toppled as he fell to the floor.

She then returned her attention back to Azimio. Making her way over to the large boy still on the ground, she grinned a sly smile. "I suggest you get out of here before I do the same to you. And the same thing goes for you as your white brethren. If you ever so much as look at her, I will rip your eyes out and hang them from my Christmas tree as ornaments. Are we clear?"

"Crystal," he squeaked.

"Now both of you get the hell out of my sights before I get any angrier!" She yelled.

The two boys quickly scampered to their feet. Karofsky did so much slower than his counterpart, with his knees bent at an odd angle and his hand clutching at his bloody nose and lip. Nonetheless, the two were gone faster than Lady Gaga concert tickets.

Santana turned away from the crowd to take in her best friend's shaking body. "And if any of you are standing there when I turn around, I will be happy to help you leave!" She shouted.

The sound of shuffling and scurrying was heard about her, but she never looked behind. She just couldn't take her eyes off of her emotionally train-wrecked best friend. Brittany's cheeks were red from tears and she sniffled loudly as she rocked her body back and forth.

Santana opened her mouth to say something, but her voice got caught in her throat. No sound came out so she closed it instead. Tiptoeing over to Brittany, she crouched down next her and placed a gentle reassuring hand on her thin shoulder.

"Brittany..." she said softly. "Shhhhhh. It's okay. It's just me. Everything's going to be okay now."

* * *

**A/N: **I hope I did that justice! So I've been really good about updating once a day, but I can't guarantee that I'll be updating again tomorrow with New Years. We'll see, though! Oh, and I assure you there will be Brittana! You will just have to be patient. If that's what you're looking for, you may like the next chapter a little more. ;)

Reviews inspire me! I love suggestions and predictions as well!


	6. Hypocrite

**Warning: **Brief Language  
**Disclaimer: **Glee does not belong to me.

* * *

Hypocrite

As she pulled the broken girl to her feet, the bell signaling the start of second period sounded. The hall occupying the two was already empty after Santana's threat, but soon the chatter in the surrounding halls died down as everyone found their way to class.

Once Brittany was back on her feet, Santana wrapped an arm around the girl's waist and the two began to walk. Brittany sniffled loudly and repeatedly wiped the big crocodile tears from her eyes. Her cheeks were pink from crying and her usually well-kept ponytail was a little chaotic. Santana couldn't help but notice that when she was crying, her eyes turned an astonishing blue-grey that looked so incredibly beautiful that they made her want to just stare into them all day. Yet, if that meant she had to see Brittany cry all the time—it just wasn't worth it.

"You should go to class, San," Brittany's voice gurgled in the back of her throat as she attempted to collect herself. For the most part her tears had stopped, although her voice still sounded like she was crying.

"Nope," Santana replied dryly. "Not going to happen." She didn't look at the blonde beside her as she spoke. Her gaze remained fixed in front of her, her body no longer relaying any sense of urgency or frustration, let alone emotion for that matter. She kept a straight face, eyes unreadable, and lips sealed shut and drawn into a straight line.

Neither of the two said a word as they walked the halls. The only sound came from Brittany's irregular and ill-controlled breathing and the occasional poorly-repressed sniffle. Eventually, Santana lead her into a bathroom, keeping her right arm around Brittany and pushing open the door with her left. Stepping inside, the door swung shut behind them. There was a girl whom Santana had never seen before standing at the sinks, applying her makeup.

The Latina unwrapped her arm from around Brittany and cleared her throat loudly. The girl at the mirror, startled, jumped and nearly leapt a foot into the air. Turning towards the source of the noise, she found the two other girls occupying the space with her. She took one quick look at the wreck that was currently Brittany before casting her gaze over to Santana who happened to be giving her one of the most menacing death glares she had ever seen. Letting out a little squeak, she shoved her eyeliner into her purse and shuffled out. Santana quickly checked all the stalls to make sure they were empty and then bolted the bathroom's door to prevent anymore unwanted visitors.

When she turned back around she found Brittany standing in the middle of the room, her arms down at her sides and her mouth twisted into an apprehensive frown. She wouldn't look at Santana. Her eyes, rather, gazed longingly down and across the room, apparently fixating themselves on the Latina's feet. But Santana knew this look—she knew that Brittany was lost in her thoughts, the outside world irrelevant and juvenile.

Santana slowly and quietly slid over to the blonde. She gazed up into those sad, confused, blue-grey eyes and wished that, as beautiful as they were, she would never have to see them again.

She stopped just inches from Brittany's body and tilted her head up at her best friend. She held out her hands and took a hold of each of Brittany's arms, grabbing them between the elbow and bicep. The touch was enough to pull Brittany from her daze. Her eyes briefly scanned her surroundings to take in where she was. Once she had recognized and remembered her location a little sigh escaped her lips.

"Hey," Santana whispered.

Brittany lowered her vision to her best friend's height and then took a deep breath. Her solemn eyes pierced Santana's dark chocolate. "Hey," she breathed.

Santana then preceded to engulf the blonde in a warm hug. Even though a lot of people found it awkward to hug someone taller, Santana loved hugging Brittany. She enjoyed the way her body fit so well against Brittany's torso; the way she could just as easily and comfortably bury her head into the blonde's shoulder or neck, depending on her mood or the situation. It made her feel safe.

With her arms wrapped around Brittany, she felt Brittany press into her and wrap her own arms around her body.

The two remained in that position for a matter of minutes. Brittany was no longer crying, although the occasional sniffle did find its way out. Santana did not want to be the one to break the hug—she would stand there all night if that's what Brittany wanted. Eventually, Brittany did break away though, and when she did, Santana gently took her hand and lead her over to the wall at the far end of the room. She softly pulled Brittany down with her and the two took a seat on the floor. Santana sat with her legs bent, knees in the air as she leaned against the wall while Brittany sat with her feet out in front of her, her body a right angle parallel with the wall. She did not let go of Brittany's hand.

"Do you want to talk about it?" She asked softly.

Brittany shook her head.

"Please, Britt? I want to make it better, but I can't if you won't talk to me."

The blonde gazed down at her feet and let out a soft sigh. "I'm sorry that you have to be friends with me, Santana." She mumbled.

Santana froze. Two things were wrong with that statement. One, Brittany absolutely adored her. They were inseparable. Not to mention that the blonde had always been okay with who she was and never talked badly about herself. Second, Brittany almost never used her real name. That was a red flag in itself.

"What? Why?"

"Because," she paused, "you shouldn't have to be friends with someone like me—you don't deserve me."

"And why is that?" Santana's voice rose in protest. She had to silently remind herself to remain calm.

"I'm dumb." She grumbled.

Santana let out a loud groan and buried her face in her hands. _Oh, no. _"No...babe...you're not." She put her arms back down and placed a hand on Brittany's shoulder. "Listen to me. I don't care what those jerks said to you. You are not dumb, okay? Don't listen to what other people say about you. They don't know you. I do. And I say you aren't. So you aren't. Okay?"

"But I am! I'm retarded, everyone says so."

"No they don't." She countered.

"But it's what they're thinking. I can tell." She crossed her arms and frowned. "I'm sorry. I don't mean to be stupid. If I could be as smart as you I would, or even Rachel, I guess." The blonde scratched at her head. "I just want to be a good person. That's all. I don't mean to ruin things or be so unhelpful with my dumbness. I just can't help it. I try to think smartly and try to come up with witty insults like you, but I just can't. All that ever comes out is stupid gibberish." She fiddled with her hands in her lap. "Do you think something's wrong with me?"

"What? No!" Santana exclaimed, astonished. "Don't apologize for anything! First off, I don't care if you're not as smart as Rachel. Because Brittany, you're smart in your own way. You know me and can read me better than anyone. It takes some serious brainpower and _balls_, let me tell you, to do _that. _You see the world so differently than anyone I've ever met, and the way you think is so unique and refreshing. You see little things that other people can't. You've opened my eyes to new ways of seeing things and understanding. Considering that I'm about as stubborn as a two-year old, could any dumb person ever do that?"

"No..." Brittany murmured.

"Exactly. And don't say that I don't deserve you. You're my best friend, I chose you for a reason. Now come here." Santana held out her arms and Brittany willingly situated herself in them. The taller girl leaned against the shorter and Santana softly stroked her arm.

"You're my wingman, and I don't let just anyone ride shotgun." Santana chuckled at her own remark as she held the blonde.

Suddenly, Brittany pulled away. Her brow was furrowed and she wouldn't look at Santana.

"What?" Santana asked, a little offended.

"That's just it, San. I'm your _wingman._ I ride _shotgun. _You're my _babysitter._ Because apparently I don't know how to handle myself or how to take care of myself."

"B—" Santana tried to interject.

"No, S. It's true. I'm like your little puppy or something. We've never been at the same level. I'm just your little constellation prize."

"Consolation." Santana corrected.

"Whatever," Brittany huffed. "Karofsky was right. I'm pathetic. Without you, I'd be nothing. It's always been Santana, or Santana and Brittany. Never just Brittany. I'm just the dumb pretty girl that hangs out with Santana. By myself, I'm worthless."

"Brittany!" Santana exclaimed, starting to become a little frustrated. "Didn't you hear what I just said? You're not stupid and you're not worthless. If that's what other people think of you, then they're not worth your time."

Brittany stood up quickly and turned to glare at Santana. "You're a," she paused and bit her lip and furrowed her brow in the way that she did when she was thinking hard, "hypocrite." Once she was sure the right word had come out, she relaxed her brow, looking much more confident and nodded her head once in triumph.

"How?" The urge to stand up and run over to Brittany began to overwhelm her. She wanted to rush over and shake some sense into the girl, but Santana knew that that would only make things worse. So she remained seated.

"_You_ said that one of my ideas was dumb today." She turned her head to the side as she talked, as if she was afraid to see Santana's reaction to the remark.

"But—"

"_Brittany, that's dumb." _She quoted mockingly, doing her best to mimic Santana's tone.

"I didn't mean it like that!" Santana was practically yelling now. Her hands flew into the air as she spoke.

"Then what did you mean?"

The room went silent. Santana opened her mouth in protest, but her mind just couldn't put any words together. She was feeling so many things. She was frustrated, angry, sad, annoyed, and overwhelmed. The emotions just couldn't form words, though.

When she had made the remark earlier that morning, she'd had no ill-intentions. She would never hurt Brittany, not purposely at least. It tore her up inside to know that Brittany thought she'd betrayed her and been such an insensitive friend. Meanwhile, Brittany stood in silence, waiting for a response.

"I..." Santana tried. "I—I—Brittany, I'm sorry. I never meant to say that. I wasn't thinking and I would never—"

"They think you're my girlfriend."

"Huh?" Santana stopped mid-sentence. "Oh, yeah, I know." She instantly lowered her voice and scratched the back of her neck awkwardly. This was territory she wasn't really comfortable with. Sure Brittany and her got a little close sometimes, but that didn't mean anything. That's what best friends did, right? "But what does that have to do with this?"

"Girlfriends don't say bad things about each other or treat each other like _sidekicks_." She hissed the last word.

"I'm not your girlfriend, B." Her voice got even quieter as she talked, if it was even possible.

"You know, San, I don't have a problem with dating girls or guys. I've made out with all of them. Hell, I've made out with you! And for the longest time, I'd thought that maybe, just maybe, you were that one person who I could actually be happy with in a relationship. Because you made me feel special and 'protected' me," she held up air-quotes, "and made me feel normal—like I wasn't this horrible dumb _thing_ that everyone thinks I am. But I guess I was wrong. You mislead me. You're just like everyone else; you obviously don't care about my feelings. Girlfriends don't do that. And _best friends_ don't do that either."

She turned around and stormed out of the bathroom.

Santana quickly got to her feet. She opened her mouth to defend herself, but before she could say anything, the blonde was already out the door. As she stood there, mouth agape, her heart seemed to stop. Then, a wave of shock rushed her body. Backing up, she didn't stop until her back was pressed firmly against the wall. Then, she slowly slid back down to the floor with her legs sprawled out in front of her.

"Brittany..." she muttered.

* * *

**A/N:** So I'm sorry that it took me longer to get this out! First there was New Years and then I was exhausted from working on some of my final college apps. But I hoped you enjoyed, even though it's hard to enjoy Brittana fights. :( This chapter turned out a lot different than I planned, but I like how it did. So there.

Reviews make me happy! Also, school starts again for me tomorrow, so I'll have to figure out a new writing schedule. Hopefully I'll be able to stick to one chapter a day, though. Happy New Year everyone! May your 2011 be filled with wicked epicness and Brittana.


	7. Questions and Revelations

**Warning: **Brief language  
**Note: **This is basically a filler chapter, which explains the length. However, it is crucial for storyline.  
**Disclaimer: **I do not own Glee.

* * *

Questions and Revelations

Stunned speechless. That pretty much summed up Santana's current state. There was no way any of that could have happened. Brittany and her did not fight. They just didn't. Sure they bickered like an old couple, but that was all fun and games. It was sarcastic. She couldn't recall the last time they had _really_ fought. And the more she thought about it, the more she realized why that was: it was because there hadn't been a last time.

She continued to sit on the relatively clean bathroom floor. Her body wouldn't move, her mouth frozen agape. _That didn't just happen. That didn't just happen. _Her mind kept chanting the mantra over and over again, as if the more she said it, the more likely it would be that time would stop and rewind itself so she could fix whatever she'd done. So that when she closed her eyes and opened them again, Brittany would be right next to her, curled up in her arms, a warm, gentle smile plastered across her face. But when she blinked, there was no tall blonde beside her.

Santana didn't know what to do. Should she follow? Should she wait it out and stare at her phone until she finally got the text message with Brittany's apology? But what if there was no apology? What if this was it? What if Brittany was leaving her forever? She would be alone. She wouldn't have anyone left to turn to. Brittany was all that she had; all that she trusted and loved and cared about. She needed her.

The logical plan would be to follow her and attempt to intercept her before something bad happened; before it was too late to fix this. She would apologize, beg, plead, cry, whatever she needed to do to get her best friend back. _If she would even listen._

This was one thing Brittany seemed pretty pissed off about. The more Santana thought about it, the more the whole thing sounded like a rant. How long had this been bothering her? She certainly had displayed a lot of pent up tension and frustration. But if that was the case, how come she had never come to Santana to talk about it? Wasn't that what best friends did? Aren't they supposed to tell each other everything? Isn't that what keeps them close? _Maybe you've been watching too much Pretty Little Liars..._

Speaking of best friends, where did that whole "girlfriend" thing come from? '_And for the longest time, I'd thought that maybe, just maybe, you were that one person who I could actually be happy with in a relationship._' She replayed the words over and over in her mind. Since when had Brittany had actual feelings for her? Sure, the two were kind of friends with benefits on occasion and such. It wasn't a big deal to make out with your best friend in front of a couple guys to get a little tail every now and then. Was it? She had told Brittany earlier that day that she was fine with it. But, an actual relationship between two girls? Sure, it was fine in retrospect. But between herself and another girl? It made her feel a little uncomfortable.

She had never once stopped to ponder whether or not she could have feelings for a girl. Let alone her best friend. Sure, Brittany was hot. Sure, she had kick-ass body. And sure, she was the only person she had ever let get through her walls. But could she ever have feelings for her?

No. She wasn't gay. Santana Lopez was not fucking gay. She had sex with smokin' hot guys and only the occasional hook-up with another girl for fun, when she was drunk, or to attract _more_ smokin' hot guys. There was no way she was going all rainbows up in this hood.

But on the occasion that she did make out or even hook-up with Brittany, why did it always feel so different? Why was it that whenever they were close to each other, they were always touching? A hand here, a head resting against a shoulder there, the way they walked with their pinkies intertwined. It had gotten to the point where the interactions were no longer even noticed. It was subconscious. Normal. But that wasn't the end of it. It was the way they always threw out little compliments at one another, insisting how hot each other were, giggling, gossiping...flirting. _My God, we're flirting._

Best friends didn't flirt with each other. Best friends enjoyed each other's company. She enjoyed Brittany's. But maybe she enjoyed it a bit too much? Whenever they were together, whenever Santana saw that big, dorky grin stretch across her face, it made her just about the happiest girl in the world. Not to mention the way the blonde cheerleader looked when she danced and sang, it made her so happy. That was all Santana wanted. And if Brittany was happy, she was happy. It made her feel all warm and fuzzy inside to know that her best friend—the one person in this crap town she knew she could count on, the one person whom she trusted more than any other person on this planet, and the one and only person in the entire universe whom she really felt she loved—was happy. That was all that mattered.

But was it possible to be gay for just one person? She had never felt any sort of attraction to any other female, at least, not when she was sober anyway. Brittany made her feel different, though. Different than any guy had ever made her feel. _Happier_ than any guy had ever made her feel.

Even amongst all the confusion she was feeling, one thing was for certain. She loved Brittany. Maybe it was beyond what "normal" best friends felt for one another, but what did it matter when everything was about to fall apart in front of her? What would it matter if she was going to lose everything?

She had to find Brittany. It wasn't like she needed to confess a new-found undying love for her; she just needed to apologize. She needed to make things right. All that mattered was that she could see Brittany be happy again; hear her joyous laughter, look into those big beautiful blue eyes, and see that infectious smile light up her face. Yeah, that was all she wanted.

_Open your eyes, Santana, because what you don't see might be exactly what you're looking for._

_

* * *

_

**A/N: **So just a quick word that I want to throw out there. I'm straight and have never had to go through this kind of experience. I am unaware of what it's really like and what it feels like for a person to question their sexuality. This chapter isn't entirely about that, although it obviously encompasses quite a bit of it. Basically, I just went off of stuff I've seen on TV and other fics that I've read about the same subject. I hope I did it even the slightest bit of justice and didn't make it seem all, "fun and rainbows", so to speak.

Reviews are appreciated. Next chapter will be a doozy!


	8. Numb

**Warning: **Language, slight graphic violence  
**Disclaimer: **I own nothing but the plot

* * *

Numb

Before she could collect and organize her final thoughts, Santana was on her feet and out the door. That's when she realized that she had a bit of a problem...

Brittany could have been anywhere.

There were so many places she could have run off to—inside the school and out. Hell, inside of Lima and out! There wasn't even anyone around for Santana to ask; not like they would know anyway. Who knows how long she had been sitting in there for? Brittany very well could have been long gone.

_God dammit, Santana! Think!_

She scrunched her eyes shut and pinched the bridge of her nose. She had to think logically. Where did Brittany go when she wanted to get away? First thing first, she wouldn't have gone home. Her parents would have driven her right back, (the obvious downside to having strict European parents and a genius seven-year old as a sister with perfect attendance). It was highly improbable that she had actually gone to class, since she wouldn't remember where it was—that being what started the whole debacle in the first place. Definitely not the choir room, the jazz band used it during second period. And certainly not the auditorium. That room scared her. So where the hell would she go?

The longer she stood there, the more frustrated she grew. Unless Brittany was aimlessly wandering the school, which was always a possibility, there was almost no chance in hell that Santana would be able to catch her. She had to think, and she had to do it fast.

Then, an idea hit her. If she wanted to find Brittany...she would have to think like Brittany.

_Brittany thinks outside the box. So _you_ have to think outside the box. C'mon, San, think, think outside the box. Think outside the box. Think outside the fucking box!_

_Outside..._

_Outside!_

That was it! Outside, on the football field. Under the bleachers. It was the place that the girls used to sneak off to during class to get wasted or to skip out on English. Santana had introduced Brittany to it in their freshman year. Later that year, it had been the place that, together, the two had downed an entire bottle of Jack Daniels. And in Santana's drunken stupor, it had been the first time she ever kissed Brittany.

It made sense. If Brittany was so caught up in having feelings for Santana, then that spot was like a landmark—a hugely significant milestone in their relationship. Based on the content of Brittany's earlier rant, and if Brittany really felt the way she said she did about Santana, then that was probably where she was headed—if she wasn't already there.

Santana broke into a sprint. Everything around her became a blur as she sped by classrooms, lockers, and the occasional student. Her gaze remained fixated in front of her, trained on her path. There would be no distracting her. Santana Lopez was on a mission.

Although the entire time she ran she had her mind on Brittany, she subconsciously wondered which of the two was faster: her rapidly-beating, adrenaline-fueled heart, or the strong, toned legs that swiftly carried her down the halls of McKinley.

Surprisingly enough, she wasn't nervous. Talking to Brittany about feelings had never been an issue, so why would this be any different? It was just another heart to heart. They'd had plenty of them over the years. After a while, they'd learned that in the end, everything would end up okay. It always did. That's how life worked. Sometimes, things didn't go according to plan or the way you wanted them to, and there would be bumps and bruises along the way, but eventually everything always worked itself out. It just took time. All she had to do was be optimistic that the two of them would make it through.

As she burst through the final double doors, she stopped in the student parking lot. Around the corner and across the lot were all the sports fields—including the football field and its subsequent vast rows of bleachers.

"Brittany!" She called out, ultimately hoping to receive a response, but feeling satisfied with the idea that it would simply make her presence known to the blonde.

There was no sign of Brittany though, and predictably, no response. So Santana jogged around the corner of the school to the main area of the student parking lot. There were a few cars parked along the curb. Behind them and a few hundred yards out was the entrance to their football stadium.

Santana dodged the cars lined up along the curb and began to make her way through the first row of cars parked in the student spaces. Just as she was trying to navigate through a cluster of large trucks and SUV's, a glimpse of blonde caught her attention out of the corner of her eye. She came to a sudden stop, nearly running into a parked Jeep and narrowly avoiding setting off the alarm. Craning her neck towards the glimmer of blonde, she couldn't help but feel a wave of relief as her heart skipped a beat and she let out a long, far-from-exaggerated sigh. A tall, moping blonde in an unmistakable red and white Cheerios uniform was just a few rows ahead of her. _Brittany._

Santana let out another sigh of relief, happy to have found the blonde before she could get herself into any other inconceivable shenanigans.

Brittany was slowly but steadily making her way toward the football field and without a doubt toward their past favorite rendezvous point. Although her back was turned to Santana, it was easy to recognize that the girl walked with her head hung in front of her. She was unconsciously twiddling her fingers in front of her body in the way that she often did when she was feeling down, and to Santana's dismay, it was quite obvious by the slight shudders and the way her hunched shoulders shook—to tell that she was crying.

In that very brief moment it took for Santana to recognize the emotional state of her best friend, a pang of hatred and anger swept through her body. Santana had always been a confident person; self-esteem just wasn't an issue when you were beautiful, popular, and a living, breathing sex-goddess. But in that tiny, split second of a moment, she absolutely hated herself. Although her expression remained unreadable, she was unquestionably livid. She could feel the searing hatred engulf her body like a flame until every bit of her insides was ablaze.

This was all her fault. She had failed to recognize Brittany's feelings and in return had caused her more pain than she ever deserved. She had been insensitive and careless, and Brittany had been right. That was no way for a best friend to act. She was the cause of Brittany's sadness. And that, without question, absolutely killed her inside.

She tilted her head upwards as she scrunched her eyes shut and pinched the bridge of her nose. _Stop this, Santana. You've got to stop beating yourself up and calm down. Sure, it sucks now, but as __soon as you go talk to her everything will be fine._ She let her hand drop back to her side and she shook her head from side to side a few times to clear her thoughts. _Now go._

She took a few steps forward as the blonde grew smaller in the distance. "Brittany!" She yelled again. Her voice shook a little as she said the name.

The tall figure, just a half a football field or so away, stopped. Her head, previously hanging, bolted itself upright and immediately glanced from left to right and back again in search of the source of her name. Without any luck, the blonde head quickly whipped itself around to reveal a painstakingly confused Brittany. Even from a distance, Santana could tell that Brittany looked incredibly weary. She could see the glistening redness of her naturally pale cheeks, and although she was much too far away to see them clearly, there was no doubt that there were tears there too.

Brittany's jaw dropped a little as her eyes locked onto Santana.

"Britta—" Santana began to yell the name for the third time, but before she could finish, her eyes went wide and the final letters of Brittany's name were replaced with a horrified, blood-curdling scream.

The sound of her scream was masked, though, by the squealing of brakes against pavement and the heart-stopping sound of tires skidding along asphalt.

Santana couldn't help but stare wide-eyed and frozen motionless at the scene as it unfolded before her.

A white Jetta came barreling in, smoke spewing from its locked tires as they dragged along the pavement. The car attempted to swerve to the right, but it was too late. Just as Brittany's head turned to face the car, it hit her.

Brittany had tried to leap off the ground and onto the hood, but with such little time to do so, her attempt was dismal at best. The nose of the Jetta slammed into her thighs, forcing her barely airborne body to buckle. She was then thrown against the top of the hood and into the bottom of the car's windshield. The car continued to skid and swerve and in response her body reverberated off the windshield and was limply thrown off the side of the car and into the air before hitting the ground with a forceful thud. Just as soon as her body made contact with the ground, her head smashed against the concrete and her crumpled figure went still.

Santana stood in complete, utter shock. She tried to concentrate, but she just couldn't get the sickening image of Brittany's body hitting the car and flailing into the air like a rag doll out of her mind. Despite the replaying image, Santana felt completely brain dead. It was like nothing was working up there. She felt blank and empty. And even when it finally hit her, (pardon the awful pun) her head screamed at her to move. But her legs wouldn't listen. She stayed rooted to the spot like her feet were literally superglued to the pavement. Her entire body felt numb and she felt useless.

Although she only stood there for a very brief second or two, it felt like hours. Everything had happened so quickly, yet, so slowly. It was a strange feeling. Time had slowed down and everything seemed to be happening in super slow-mo; her thoughts, her movements, and everything else around her.

One quick thought eventually threw her from her inner-space time continuum and back to the unfortunate reality of what was going on.

_Fuck._

Like that, she was sprinting to the heap of a body on the ground. "BRITTANY!" She screamed so loudly that it was possible that the entire city of Lima could have heard her. "BRITTANY!" She yelled it again, this time her voice harsh in the back of her throat. It burned her throat to yell, but she did it anyway, the name coming out raspy and throaty.

Santana practically threw herself on top of Brittany. She placed her hands on Brittany's still body and took hold of the girl's arms. They were heavy and limp inside her grasp. "Brittany..." she said softly, "are you okay?"

The blonde's eyes were closed and there was no response. Santana shifted her body forward to get a better look at her face. The entire side of her face was speckled red and covered in a layer of rock and dirt from the asphalt. Brittany was going to have a major case of road-rash. Santana gently but quickly let go of the lax arms and hoisted Brittany's torso to rest on her bent knees. She brought her hands to Brittany's head and entangled them in the long, golden hair and tilted the girl's head side to side. "Brittany, are you awake?" She mumbled the words, but the proximity between the two was close enough so that Brittany ought to have been able to hear.

Surprisingly enough, Santana wasn't crying. She felt like she should have been. A giant influx of random emotions was currently cascading through her, but not a single tear escaped. Her voice wavered in the way that it did when she was crying, but the shock of everything was keeping the tears at bay.

When there was again no answer, Santana removed her left hand from Brittany's hair and went to touch the girl's battered cheek. She looked down, however, to find that her hand was red and covered in thick blood.

It felt like her heart skipped not just one, but maybe two or three beats. She let out a little squeak in fear. "Brittany!" She called yet again, shaking the blonde's shoulders roughly. Her stomach twisted into knots as she did.

"FUCK!" She punched the ground with a fist, but didn't even feel the pain in her knuckles. "Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!"

Setting the blonde back down on her knees, Santana tugged her Cheerios top over her head and balled it up before pressing it against the bleeding cavity in her friend's head. She didn't care that she was left in just her skirt and her white Under Armor with her red and black sports bra all too visible from underneath; nor did she care that Coach Sylvester would have her ass for getting anything other than sweat or tears of physical exhaustion on her uniform, and the all too obvious fact that she would have to pay for the dry cleaning herself.

Amidst her extreme focus on Brittany, Santana did not notice that the white Jetta had stopped about fifty yards away and had pulled into a parking space. A tall, gangly, frightened-looking boy with dark hair slowly approached the two figures. He was a sophomore and, had Santana not been in that particular situation, she would have made some snarky comment about him driving a girly car. His body was visibly shaky and his bottom lip quivered as he chewed on it. Santana payed him no attention, though. She was much too concerned with the fate of one Brittany S. Pierce.

"I—I—uh..." He stumbled over his words as he came up behind Santana.

From behind her she heard a gasp.

"Oh shit. Oh God, oh God, oh my God." His breaths became heavy as he took in the sight of the still blonde.

Santana continued to ignore him.

He rushed around Brittany's body to face Santana. "I'm so sorry! I didn't see her and I tried to—"

"Shut the fuck up and call 911!" She barked.

"I—uh—" He stuttered.

"NOW!" Her eyes grew large and vicious as she snarled up at him from the ground.

"Okay," he squeaked and pulled out his phone.

The boy held the phone up to his ear and walked away. Santana easily returned her attention to Brittany. She applied more pressure to the head wound, aware that head injuries did not stop bleeding easily. The Latina reached out to check Brittany's pulse, but knowing little about medicine, was unable to find it.

Santana slid her free hand underneath the blonde head and leaned down to press her forehead against Brittany's. Their faces were just inches apart and she wished that those stunning blue eyes were staring back at her.

"I'm sorry," she breathed.

* * *

**A/N: **I apologize that this took so long. School just takes it out of me. I'll sit down and write 500 words and then just pass out from exhaustion. I'm going to say that I'll probably only be updating once to twice a week now. I hope you all stick with me, though. I've really enjoyed writing this and your awesome feedback. If I could, I would everyday. Anyway, I hope you enjoyed even though I was being evil and torturous again. Santana and Brittany just aren't having a very good day.

Reviews keep me motivated and make me happy. :)


	9. Consciousness

**Warning: **Brief language  
**Disclaimer: **I own nothing but the plot and the typos

* * *

Consciousness

Paramedics had begun to load the unconscious Brittany into the ambulance. By this time, a fairly large crowd had gathered in the parking lot, forming a three quarters circle around the scene of the crime. Principal Figgins and a multitude of other teachers had stationed themselves outside and tried to usher the students back to class, but their efforts were mostly ignored. There was a quite a chatter coming from the ever-growing crowd as students relayed the news to others via their cell phones—beckoning others to join them and watch the spectacle—while others looked on in fear, their shock evident in their gasps, opened mouths, and hushed whispers.

The police had arrived and roped off the area in question. One stood by the ambulance surveying the scene and writing notes in a notebook, the other questioning the guilty and now crying sophomore boy. A news truck was also situated not far from the ambulance. A female reporter and her cameraman had set up near the ambulance and across from the crowd of students in order to give the audience the best view possible of everything that was going on.

And amidst all the chaos, a very still Santana stood right in the thick of it.

The entire time she waited for the ambulance she laid over Brittany's body, half hugging, half protecting her. She had kept her blood-covered Cheerios top held tightly in her hand and pressed firmly against Brittany's head the whole time. Nothing would have made her move. Not the sound of an approaching car, not the sound of the bell signaling the end of second period, not even the sound of the male adolescent's sobs and pleas for forgiveness as he looked on from behind them.

Even as the EMTs arrived and the crowd around them grew in number, they practically had to pry her off of the crumpled blonde below her. It wasn't easy for Santana to watch as they quickly checked for the girl's pulse and briefly examined her injuries. Nor was it a walk in the park to endure the torture it was to watch as they put Brittany in a neck brace and strapped her onto a body board and then transferred her to a stretcher.

Figgins had attempted to talk to her, to ask what had happened, to comfort her even, but his attempts were futile. She remained rooted to her spot, still as a statue and cold as stone. Her arms were glued down at her sides and her expression was some mix between a scowl and frown. She was literally and figuratively right in the middle of everything, but even then, not a single tear nor word escaped, except for the strange gurgle of a whine that she unconsciously emitted from the back of her throat when the paramedics began to lift Brittany off the ground.

Santana felt empty. She didn't seem to be thinking at all. Her mind was blank. Her brain wasn't telling her to think or to move, nor was her heart telling her to feel. There were so many emotions she _should_ have been feeling, but whether they were there or not, her entire system was numb to it all.

Was it bad for her to be behaving so indifferently? To be so lifeless? It would have been so easy to curl up in a ball on the ground and cry, to let herself be consumed by the fear she felt for her best friend or the hatred and blame she felt for herself for getting into this mess.

But she didn't feel any of that. Perhaps she was still in shock—too surprised to make note of the seriousness and actuality of the situation.

Her focus kept fading in and out. One second her eyes were glued to Brittany and that was all she could see. The next, her eyes would be where she last consciously put them, but her mind would be somewhere else. She would zone out for minutes at a time. One minute the medics were busy loading Brittany into the ambulance, the next they were climbing into the car, the back doors closed with Brittany's still form no longer visible, and the next the car was pulling away, its lights flashing and the loud whirring of the siren pulling her from her momentary daze.

That was apparently exactly what it took for Santana to finally realize what had just happened, though. As she regained her focus her eyes went wide and she inhaled sharply. _Holy shit._

She took in the crowd around her, the police car and the two policemen, the crying boy, the news team, the sound of the siren fading in the distance—it was all real. One thing lead to another and _this_ was the outcome. Brittany was hurt and lying unconscious in the back of an ambulance. And it was kind of, sort of...all her fault.

Regardless of who was at fault, though, there was one thing Santana was certain of. She had to be with Brittany.

Her heartbeat quickened and she clandestinely scanned the area around her again. Figgins and the rest of his administration were busy holding off the mob of students and were half-heartedly yelling at them to get to class. The police officers were caught up in a conversation together, the boy next to them leaning against their car with his head hung and his face buried in his hands. The news crew was irrelevant. Now was the perfect time.

Santana slowly turned to face the opening in the circle where the ambulance had previously been parked. _Best friends or something else, nothing is more important than Brittany. _So she narrowed her eyes and broke into a sprint. At that time, she wished she'd had Brittany's legs. The lengthy dancer had legs for days and could out-stride just about anyone. But she ran as fast as her own toned legs would allow her. She didn't bother looking back, not even when the sound of the crowd picked up in excitement behind her. One of the cops shouted, "Hey! We need to talk to you!" but she ignored him as well. Figgins unmistakably yelled out, "MS. LOPEZ! SANTANA!" in his trademark accent, but Santana was nearly too far away to hear.

She sped toward her car, weaving in and out of other cars along the way. Once she reached it and got in, she immediately started the car, put it in gear, and sped out of the parking lot at a speed that was far from legal.

* * *

Santana sat quietly in the waiting room of the nearest hospital. It had been nearly three hours since she had arrived and she still hadn't been able to see Brittany. The police had arrived not long after she got there and they interviewed and talked to her for a good forty five minutes. She was the only witness of the accident and there was no doubt that the Pierce parents would be suing. It had been important for her to relay as much information as she could about what she'd seen and that the police take as thorough notes as possible so that the police report could be released ASAP in order for the lawyers to get their hands on it.

It hadn't been easy to talk to the police. At first she had a hard time forming words, let alone the fact that she wasn't feeling up to discussing it with them. However, they eventually got her to break her silence. A couple times she had to pause to keep herself from tearing up, particularly when being asked to describe what happened to Brittany when the car hit her, but she simply reminded herself that she was tough and didn't cry.

The Pierces had shown up multiple times. The first time they arrived had been right after the police left. For a while they sat and waited with Santana—no one was allowed in to see Brittany. Mrs. Pierce often broke in random fits of violent sobs and, each time, Mr. Pierce would lean over and take her hand and whisper to her in Dutch, his native tongue, until she had calmed herself back down.

Santana appreciated that they waited with her; that they felt close enough to her to allow her to be apart of their little group. On the other hand, it also made her feel incredibly uncomfortable and guilty. Santana still blamed herself for what had happened. Sure, it was partially the boy's fault for not paying attention and hitting her. It turned out that the boy, whose name was apparently Chris, had been texting while he was driving. Despite that though, she continued to feel responsible for putting Brittany in that situation. Had she been more sensitive toward Brittany when they were in the bathroom together, none of this would have happened. Had she been a better friend and taken the time to comfort the most important person in her life, the person whom, at the time, needed her the most, then chances were that she wouldn't have wound up skipping school while she sat outside the hospital room of one Brittany S. Pierce. Of course, she hadn't mentioned any of that to the Pierces. That only adding to her feelings of guilt.

After an hour of waiting with them, a doctor came out to explain Brittany's condition. He'd said that she was extremely lucky to be in the state that she was. Although she was still unconscious, she was stabilized. Her breathing was being controlled and constantly monitored and they'd had to stitch up the gash in Brittany's forehead. He had thanked Santana for putting pressure on the wound until the ambulance had arrived. Had she not, Brittany would have lost a lot more blood and probably would have been in much worse condition.

Altogether, Brittany had a majorly bruised thigh and eighteen bruised ribs. She had ten stitches in her head, just below the hairline, and a sprained ankle. Not to mention the hideous scrapes on her knees and arms from landing on the pavement, as well as the serious road-rash that was currently the right side of her face. Other than that, she was aesthetically fine.

The fact of the matter was, Brittany had yet to regain consciousness. The blonde had hit her head rather forcefully on her landing, but after undergoing some brain scans, her head checked out fine except for a minor concussion. The only issue being, when and even _if_ she would wake up.

The doctor had also told them that they would not yet be allowed to see Brittany. Hearing those words had been painful for Santana. All she wanted was to see her, but not even rebellious Santana was going to go against the word of a doctor, particularly when the well-being and life, even, of her best friend was on the line.

After a while of pacing up and down the halls and around the waiting room, the Pierces wanted to get away. They were emotionally exhausted from the worry they were experiencing and had to leave to pick up Brittany's younger sister from school and then take her to a friend's house where she could spend the night.

When Santana was again alone, she was able to relax a little. She loved Brittany's family like they were her own, but she hated the way she felt so irresponsible and pressured by them. They had good intentions, they really did, but that didn't stop her from feeling that way.

The entire day her cell phone had been ringing off the hook and she must have received a hundred text messages in a matter of a few hours. Every time her phone began to ring, she would read the name on her screen before pressing the red button to ignore the call and put an end to the vibration in her hands. As for her texts, she would read each and every one—most being from her fellow Glee clubbers—but would never reply back.

**Hey S, I heard what happened. Are you okay? Want me to come wait with you? XO, Quinn**

**You okay? -Puck**

**May I assume that you will not be making an appearance at Glee club today? -Rachel**

**How's Brittany? Have you seen her? Is she doing okay? -Artie**

**Are _you_ doing okay? -Artie**

**I'm sorry about what happened. I know that she means a lot to you. Hope you're hanging in there. Oh, and Rachel says to answer her text. -Finn**

**Can't even comprehend how you're feeling right now. Chin up, you know Britt would want you to. XO, Kurt**

**Who was driving the car? Do I need to go kick some ass? I don't mind. -Puck**

**Just heard what went down. Im sorry. Hope u r doing ok. Keep ur head up sista. -Mercedes**

**:( Santana? -Tina**

**Tina just told me what happened. How about an update? -Mike**

**Answer your phone. Please? -Quinn**

The only text she actually replied back to was from Mrs. Pierce asking her if she wanted some coffee since they were making a Starbucks run before returning to the hospital. She politely declined.

Santana had never been one to wait for anything. Her dad was a doctor and she was absolutely spoiled at home. If she asked for something, she got it right away. At school, she used her bitch factor to scare everyone into giving her exactly what she wanted. She just wasn't really used to waiting for anything. So having patience was definitely something new.

She found it hard to just sit there all day. She considered pacing, but knew that that would only make her more anxious. So instead she fiddled with her hands in her lap and silently watched as the waiting room would repeatedly fill and then empty itself over time.

Santana had yet to tell her parents where she was. In fact, she had barely uttered a word since she talked to the police. Knowing their daughter, her parents had called Brittany's and were told the unfortunate news. They drove over and brought their daughter dinner and did their absolute best to console her. Just like anyone else, they didn't get much out of her other than the occasional nod and a mumbled "thank you" for bringing dinner. Had her daughter been anyone else, Mrs. Lopez would have offered her a hug and a shoulder to cry on, but of course, Santana wanted neither. Instead, they gave their daughter her space.

* * *

It was nearing 8:30 and the two families sat in silence in the empty waiting room. It was then that the doctor reemerged from Brittany's room. He began to walk toward the waiting area and the Pierces immediately perked up. Mrs. Pierce looked exhausted and her eyes were puffy from crying. Mr. Pierce's looked nearly the same way, his expression a mix of worry and exhaustion.

"Mr. Pierce. Mrs. Pierce," he nodded to each of them.

"Yes?" Mrs. Pierce squeaked.

"Your daughter is still unconscious, I'm sorry to say. However, we've taken her off oxygen and she's doing just fine without it. We will be monitoring her vitals and keeping her on an IV until she has regained consciousness. At this point, it's safe to say that she's in a coma. Due to the extent of the injury itself, I'm optimistic that it shouldn't last long. But I do want to be clear that there is always a chance that she won't wake up. As I'm sure you're well aware, a coma is the result of a head injury in which the person remains unconscious for a long period of time and cannot react to any outside stimuli. Comas can last anywhere between hours to years, however most people that go into comas do not remain in one for more than four weeks. I don't mean to be so pessimistic, but it's important that you understand the seriousness of this situation and that there is a possibility that a full recovery may not happen, or at least, very quickly. Like I said, though, it may not be like that at all. She could wake up at any moment, so let's hope that she does soon. Do you have any questions?"

Mrs. Pierce swallowed loudly and shook her head.

"No, thank you though." Mr. Pierce chimed in, placing a comforting hand on his wife's back.

"You may see her now, if you'd like," the doctor added, "just be careful of the IV and the wires. Also, if she twitches or moves around a little, that's typical of coma patients in a particular stage of their condition. It's most likely nothing, so I don't want you to get overly excited if that does happen. If she opens her eyes, though, that's another thing. In that case, call for a nurse. I wish both of you and Brittany the best of luck. I will check on her again in the morning. Have a good night."

"Thank you," Brittany's father replied yet again.

The doctor walked away and Mr. Pierce turned towards Santana. "Santana, if you don't mind? You can see her after we're done, I promise." He took his wife's hand and Santana nodded before returning her gaze to her lap.

The Pierces must have stayed with Brittany for two hours before they emerged from her room. Santana immediately livened up as she saw them coming down the hall.

"Thank you, Santana. We really appreciate you giving us some alone time with Brittany. We're heading home for the night. Not like we'll be getting any sleep, but we at least need to try. If you need to reach one of us, both our cells will be nearby. You can go see her now."

Santana nodded.

"And thank you both," he nodded toward her parents, "for staying with us tonight. We really appreciate it."

"Of course," her mother added.

The two then walked down the hall and disappeared from sight.

"Go on, honey," her mother insisted.

But Santana didn't need an invitation. She was already on her feet and heading toward the door. Slowly placing her hand on the knob and turning it, she pushed opened the door. Once it was closed behind her, she looked around until her gaze locked on the hospital bed not far from her and the still blonde that occupied it.

As soon as she saw her, Santana's breath hitched in the back of her throat, but a long awaited wave of relief finally swept through her. "Britt..." she whispered.

* * *

**A/N: **I got this out earlier than I expected! Thank you snow for canceling school! All I have to say about this chapter is that it's mostly filler. Also, hopefully my medical jargon was all correct. If not, feel free to correct me! Sorry if this chapter wasn't very exciting...but it had to be done!

Hoping to get one more chapter out by the end of the week. Reviews make them come faster! :)


	10. When Doves Cry

**Warning: **Brief language  
**Disclaimer: **I do not own Glee. The title of this chapter comes from Prince's 'When Doves Cry'. I thought the chorus was rather fitting.

* * *

When Doves Cry

She stood in the same spot, just in front of the closed door, for a matter of minutes. Her gaze remained fixated on the still blonde before her. Brittany's torso and head were sticking out from underneath the blankets of the bed and her Cheerios uniform had been swapped for a blue hospital gown. There were wires sticking out every which way and that, but none of that could have distracted Santana.

Even then, Brittany looked so peaceful. Her lips were splayed out in a small frown, but the rest of her features were relaxed and gentle. Her skin was torn up and slightly paler than normal, and her hair was a mess, but Santana couldn't help but notice how absolutely beautiful Brittany was.

She had never in her entire lifetime been so thankful and happy to see her best friend. Sure, there were times in the past where she had been heartbroken by a guy or done something so downright stupid that she broke out in tears and called the blonde in need of her best friend, but never was she so thankful to see Brittany as much as she was then. Even if she unconscious, all that mattered was that they were together and Brittany was alive and safe.

Santana began to slowly make her way toward the bed. It was odd, she couldn't really feel herself walking, nor did she really acknowledge that she was doing so until the space between them began to drastically diminish. Rather, it felt like she was effortlessly sliding over ice or like she was floating a few inches off the ground. But eventually, there she was, standing right over top of Brittany with her thighs pressed against the edge of the bed.

She kept her hands plastered against her sides as she took in the blonde's face. For a long time she just stared. It was amazing how little she really knew that face. She could recognize it, pick it out in a crowd of people, of course, but it wasn't until she took in every little inch of her thin, pale face did Santana really become acquainted with it.

Her hands began to shake at her sides and she swallowed hard. _Keep yourself together, S._ It was so difficult for her to be in control, though. To see her best friend lying on a hospital bed in front of her pulled at Santana's heartstrings and left her feeling empty and cold inside. All she wanted to see was the warm smile and striking blue eyes of her best friend.

Her breath became uneven and a little ragged in her chest, coming out in short gasps. The Latina scrunched her eyes shut in hopes to gain her composure, but doing so was nearly impossible.

As she pulled open her eyes, she scanned the length of Brittany's body yet again. Her eyes stopped on the dark prominent stitches that were visible beneath the dancer's chaotic bangs, then she switched her focus to the red abrasion on the right side of her face. From just above the eyebrow, down her cheek and to right above the chin was a speckled exposed streak of raw skin. Looking at it made her feel light-headed and nauseous so she tore her eyes away.

Seeing Brittany in that state brought about another wave of guilt; not necessarily one in which _she_ was responsible for everything, but that Brittany had to suffer through this and had to do it alone. Right about then, Santana would have given anything to pull a Freaky Friday and swap bodies with the blonde.

All the while the Pierces had been visiting their daughter, Santana had been trying not to think about what the doctor had said. She had done her best to distract herself, to focus on his hopeful attitude and his positive words of encouragement. But now the pessimism haunted her, the words floating around in brain and repeating themselves over and over again, taunting her like a villain in a bad horror movie.

_T__here is always a chance that she won't wake up._

But Brittany had to wake up. She _had _to. Santana would never be able to function without her. She was Brittany's protector, and in return, Brittany kept her...human; sane even. Without her, she would be alone and unable to keep her emotions, or lack thereof, in check. She would be losing her best friend and confidant, the one person whom she'd ever let her see cry; the one person whom saw her weaknesses and knew all about her flaws; the one person whom saw right through the attitude and bitchiness and loved her in spite of it. Losing Brittany...meant losing everything, and Santana couldn't imagine a world without her. She didn't even want to try.

Her breaths began to come faster as it all began to weigh down on her. Every inch of her body shook and her eyes burned as she fought back tears. She rested her hands softly atop the still body and leaned over her figure a bit more. Feeling overwhelmed by desperation, she opened her mouth and uttered the first logical sentence—consisting of more than two words—that she had said since the paramedics had arrived at McKinley High many hours earlier to take Brittany to the hospital.

"Brittany, you have to wake up." Her mind was racing faster than she could process her thoughts, her rationality gone along with the part of her that she felt she was losing as she watched the motionless girl that lay before her—leaving behind a jumbled mess of confusion and chaotic emotions.

"Brittany, _please_ wake up! B, please..." She couldn't help but gently shake the body in the hospital bed.

"You can't do this to me. You have no idea how much I need you." Her voice began to waver as she leaned over Brittany's still body. She placed a hand to the blonde's forehead and tucked a stray piece of hair behind her ear. Using the inside of her thumb, Santana ran her finger along the profile of the girl in front of her. She traced along the edge of her forehead, down her cheek bone and jaw, and eventually stopped on the point of her chin. Her skin was so soft and warm, even now.

"I need you to be strong—be strong for me." A lone tear escaped her eye and slid down her cheek. She didn't even bother to hide it or wipe it away. There was no reason to; she was alone with her best friend. What did it matter if her best friend saw her cry? That's what best friends are there for, anyway. And what did it matter, especially if her best friend was unconscious.

Santana Lopez did not cry often. She was a rock. Hard as stone and thick as a brick wall. Not much got through, but when it did, she could often control herself. But none of that seemed relevant that day.

Another tear slowly slid down her cheek, this time, from a different eye. Being careful not to put too much weight overtop the girl, she bent over and rested herself atop the blonde's side. Then, she brought the blonde's hand to her own and intertwined their fingers. First, she linked their pinkies. Stopping to observe the gesture, she couldn't help but stare at their symbol of friendship. It was such a simple gesture, almost juvenile, yet it meant so much. She brought the two fingers to her lips and kissed the adjoining appendages tenderly. Then she began to lace more fingers together, slowing moving one at a time so each finger hooked its opposite until their hands were an uncomfortable mess of interlocking fingers. She brought the hands up to her lips and kissed the back of Brittany's palm. Lowering the hands again, she softly removed her hand and laced it normally with the thin hand of her best friend and rested them atop the girl's chest.

"Santana?"

The Latina slowly turned her head to face the door of the hospital room to find her mom standing in the doorway.

"It's getting late and you have school in the morning, honey," she whispered as she took in the emotions dripping down her daughter's cheeks. "Maybe you should be heading home now." She began to take a step into the room in hopes of comforting her distressed daughter, but was quickly halted.

"No, Mom. Stop. I'm fine, okay? I just need some time." She struggled to maintain control of her words as she glanced between the blank expression of her friend and that of the worried look on her mother's face. "And no, I'm not leaving her."

"Santana—"

"Mom, I really don't give a shit. She's my best friend, I can't leave her. Listen, my car's already here. Just go home and I'll drove myself home when I'm ready."

"When will that be?"

"I don't know. I could care less about school right now, okay? I promise I'll be fine and I'll come straight home after I'm done here. No stupid shit, promise." She fixed her gaze onto her mother, her eyes dark but pleading and her expression unmoving.

The older woman let out a sigh. "Fine, but text me if you decide to stay overnight." And with that she walked away and closed the door behind her.

Santana turned back to Brittany. Her lips quivered as more tears began to escape her eyes. One ran the length of her face before dripping down to their intertwined hands, pooling across their fingers. More began to quickly follow and join it.

"I'm sorry I let this happen to you, B," she whispered. "I promise I won't let anything or anyone hurt you ever again. I know that's a stupid promise to make, but I'm going to try to do everything in my power to make it happen. And I'm so sorry that this had to happen to you. You of all people don't deserve it. I'm sure you'd say that none of this is my fault, but I need to blame someone for this. So I have to blame myself, because there's no else I can think of to blame." She sniffled and wiped away the overwhelming amount of tears in her eyes with her free arm's forearm. "Brittany, you're my best friend. You know me better than anyone, and you've always been there for me. So I promise that as long as your heart is still beating, I will be here for _you. _You know,_ s_ometimes, I don't know if you realize how much you really mean to me. But you're my everything. Without you, I'd be lost. You're more than just a best friend to me, B. I love you. I hope you realize that."

Santana was silently bawling now. She made no noise, but the tears streaming from her eyes came quickly and continued to increase in pressure. She hadn't cried this hard in a long time, possibly in forever.

She repositioned herself so that she was sitting on the end of the bed next to the blonde.

"I'm sorry that I was so insensitive earlier. You were right. I was being a bad friend, and you don't deserve that. You deserve so much more, B. And I'm sorry that I didn't see how you felt about me," she paused awkwardly, "er, us. Maybe I was blind, so to speak, but really, I think I was just in denial. There were so many signs, now that I think about it. Everyone seemed to see it. I mean, Karofsky, Azimio, probably everyone in Glee. God, the whole school must know. I can't believe how ignorant I've been. I never meant to hurt you when I shot you down like that. I know you weren't even asking me out or anything, but I guess I was just kind of uncomfortable with everything. And before, when you were talking about how you thought you were stupid...I think I was just so caught up in that that I flipped a bitch and didn't stop to think and listen.

So I just want you to know that I'm sorry that I was inconsiderate and insensitive. I'm sorry that I hurt you and didn't just stop and listen to you. I'm sorry that I wasn't one hundred percent there for you when you needed it the most. I just hope that you will forgive me. I promise I will do my best to make sure none of those things ever happen again. I want to be there for you—no matter what. Through everything: highs and lows, relationships, killer Cheerios practices, Glee duets, bad test grades...everything. If you let me, I will be there. And if you let me, I want to reconsider the "us" thing. I just need to talk about it, but I can't do that without you. I want you here with me, Britt. But more importantly than all of that, I want to be here with you when you wake up."

Santana gave Brittany's hand a small squeeze before she reached up to wipe away the tears from her eyes and pull out her phone. She quickly scrawled out a message in a text and pressed send.

**Hey, Mom. Staying with B tonight. I'll be fine. Don't bother texting or calling, I'll come home when I'm ready.**

She jammed the phone back into her pocket and then leaned over and pulled her shoes off. The room was already dim, but she turned down the light on the table next to her so that it wasn't quite so bright. Turning to face Brittany one more time, she bent over and kissed the girl gently on the forehead, leaving her lips to linger against the soft warm skin for a few seconds before pulling away. Then, she pulled her legs up on the bed next to Brittany and flattened her body so that she was lying down next to the lengthy body beside her.

Her position was far from comfortable—her legs were scrunched tightly together, she had no pillow, and she was nearly hanging off the side of the bed—but none of that mattered to her. As long as she was close to Brittany, she was fine. Sniffling and wiping away a tear, she shut her eyes and entered a much needed sleep.

* * *

**A/N: **So we come full circle, eh? Funny how that happens. ;)

Hope you all enjoyed! Only a few more chapters left. Other than that, I have nothing special or witty to say. So here's where I ask for reviews. Thanks for reading! You all brighten my day. :)

OH! Hold it there! I do have something Glee-related to say. I don't know if any of you watched the Golden Globes tonight, but watching Chris Colfer win his award was absolutely amazing. I am so proud of the boy. And our girls Heather and Naya looked fantastic and looked like they felt the same level of happiness and gratification for Chris. It was touching and inspiring to say the least.


	11. Zenith

**Warning: **Brief language  
**Disclaimer: **Glee does not belong to me

* * *

Zenith

"_San?"_

"_Brittany? Where are you?"_

"_I—I don't know."_

"_What do you mean you don't know?"_

"_I just don't know. Where are you? I can't see you."_

"_I can't see you either."_

"_Come find me, please. I don't know where I am."_

"_How can I find you if neither of us know where the other is?"_

"_I don't know! Just please, help me. I need you."_

"_What's going on, B? What's wrong?"_

"_It hurts."_

_"What does?"_

"_I don't know."_

"_Britt, you have to talk to me. Tell me what's wrong and I'll try to find you."_

_"SAN!"_

"_What?"_

"_Why—why—why am I on the ground?"_

"_Huh?"_

"_Why is that car just driving away? Can't it see me? Why doesn't it stop and help me?"_

"_B?"_

"_What the? What the hell? What's happening to me? Why is my head bleeding? Why—why won't it stop? Why won't it stop, San?"_

"_Brittany! Where are you?"_

"_San, it won't stop! And why does everything hurt? Agh, San! It hurts!"_

"_BRITTANY!"_

"_San, why aren't you helping me? Why couldn't you help me?"_

"_I'm trying! I can't find you, though!"_

"_Why did you leave me? Why did you let this happen to me?"_

"_I'm sorry! I never meant to! I never meant for you to get hurt!"_

_"You did this to me. This is your fault. _You _hurt me."_

"_Brittany, stop, please. I never meant to hurt you. I never meant anything bad to happen!"_

_"You hurt me, S."_

"_No! I didn't! I would never do that to you! Please, just tell me where you are!"_

"_I was right there. I was always right there."_

"_I—"_

"_There's so much blood...it hurts so bad."_

"_No! Brittany, I'm sorry! I need you!"_

"_It's too late."_

"_No..."_

"_Too late. The blood won't stop. The pain won't go away."_

"_I'm sorry for what I did! I'm sorry that I hurt you. Please, let me help you!"_

"_You hurt me."_

"_Brittany!"_

"_San, you're hurting my arm."_

"Ugh," Santana gurgled out of the back of her throat. Her mouth was dry and her head was spinning. She squinted her eyes shut even tighter and wriggled her body a little in an attempt to find a more comfortable position in the bed. She exhaled deeply and then did her best to relax her cramped body and tired mind.

"San, you're hurting my arm."

"Mm. Sorry," she mumbled as she repositioned her torso.

_Wait..._

Her eyelids shot open and she instantly bolted upright. Lacking the correct amount of space to comfortably withhold her body in a sitting position, she half-stumbled, half-jumped off the bed. Moving faster than her still half-asleep brain could process, Santana wheeled herself around to face the hospital bed behind her. Lying on top of it and underneath its somewhat disheveled blankets was a still Brittany. Except this time, instead of lying on her back facing the ceiling, Brittany lye stiffly on her side, the shape of her bent knees visible under the blankets with her right arm extended out across the bed.

Santana's heart felt like it had dropped down into her stomach.

Hastily, yet with much adrenaline-fueled quickness, she leaned over the side of the bed and let out a soft word.

"Brittany?" Her voice was small and she practically croaked the name as she said it. By now her mind, although racing for an entirely different reason, had settled from her dream and although her vision was still a little fuzzy, her eyes were wide and receptive.

"What? Go back to sleep, it's early." The lips of the tired blonde before her barely moved as she softly spoke the words through a trance of sleep. As she spoke, she shifted her shoulders against the mattress and buried the side of her head further into the pillow.

If Santana's heart hadn't already been in her stomach, she would have for sure swallowed it at that very moment.

"BRITTANY!"

Santana flung herself off the ground and onto the bed, nearly squashing the tall blonde underneath of her. She wildly wrapped her arms around the girl's unsuspecting body and pulled their frames as close together as possible.

"Ow! San, that hurts!"

"Oh, sorry!" She spluttered through an endless siege of 'Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God!'s. Rather than removing herself from atop Brittany's body, she slackened her grip and remained put. Her head and heart were racing so fast she could hardly make sense of the situation as she absentmindedly threw a string of kisses atop the dancer's pale cheeks and forehead.

"Jeez, San. What's gotten into you?" Brittany asked through the bombardment of kisses, her voice full of confusion.

"Shhh!" was all the reply she received.

After what seemed like hours, Santana finally removed herself from hovering over Brittany and positioned herself as close to the blonde as she could get. She moved the tube of the IV out of the way and snuggled up on her side against Brittany's body so that her bare knees touched the covered ones across from hers. Santana softly rested her head against the girl's pillow and angled her head so that there wasn't more than a few inches between their foreheads—their proximity so close that they could feel the heat of each other's heads.

Santana buried her hand in the blonde's hair and began to twist the light strands in her fingers. "I thought I lost you..." she breathed.

"What do you mean?" Brittany narrowed her eyes.

"Don't you remember what happened?" Her voice rose at the end of the question.

"I don't know..."

"Britt, you're in the hospital. You got hit by a car." By now a sea of tears were freely flowing from her eyes.

"Oh. Oh yeah." Her tone was far from convincing, although Santana knew not to believe that. "Aw, San, don't cry." Brittany lifted a finger and wiped away some of the wetness on the Latina's cheeks.

"I'm sorry, it's just that the doctor said you were in a coma and that you...might not wake up."

"Oh. Well I'm awake."

"I know." Santana let out a breathy laugh and smiled softly. "I'm so happy you are. You have no idea how worried I was."

"Aw, that's sweet. But can we talk about this later? My head hurts and it's really early. I want to go back to sleep." She shut her eyes and wriggled her head against the pillow so that their foreheads were pressed against one another.

Santana reached over and touched the girl's cheek lightly with her thumb, letting it linger for a moment over the pale skin, before gently sliding it down her face. "No. I know you're tired and stuff, but we need to talk first. Then you can sleep, or at least until a nurse realizes that you're awake. Alright?"

"Fine." She opened her eyes again.

"Uhm, shit. I don't even know where to start." She wiped away some of the tears still falling from her eyes with the back of her hand.

"You were worried?" Brittany said.

"Oh, yeah. You have no idea. After you got here, they wouldn't let me see you. So I just sat outside and waited. Then your parents showed up and waited with me for awhile. They left a couple times and came back and then my parents showed up too. We all waited until they finally let us see you. It was torture—I was beside myself. I didn't know if I'd ever get to see you again."

"Of course you could have," Brittany stated matter-of-factly.

"Yeah, but not like this. I thought I'd never get to speak to you again or get to look into your eyes and see you staring back at me."

"Oh." Brittany blushed a little, making Santana's smile widen. "So uh, is that just it? I was in a comma?"

"A coma, but no. You've got a gash in your head that's got about ten stitches in it and you've got a concussion—which is probably why your head hurts—and a bunch of bruised ribs and a sprained ankle. Other than that, just a bunch of cuts and bruises here and there. Although, you're not going to like your face when you see it."

"Why? Is it bad?"

"Wicked road rash," Santana giggled, "but you still look beautiful to me." She felt her cheeks grow warm and so she stared at Brittany's chin to avoid the blonde's gaze.

"Aw, thanks, San."

"Mhm. I just—I don't know what I would have done if I had lost you." The Latina returned her gaze to the bright blue eyes that peered straight into her chocolate ones.

Brittany smiled and shrugged a shoulder, making her wince a little at the pain.

"Try not to move." Santana added, removing her hand from Brittany's hair and placing it on the girl's bicep. She let it guide itself softly up and down the toned arm.

"At least you don't have to worry anymore. You can't get rid of me that easily." Brittany grinned a toothy smile.

"Thank God. So, er, how much exactly do you remember?"

Brittany let out a sigh before scrunching her eyes shut tightly. "Uhm, I remember a car. And then I was in the air, and I remember hitting the windshield. And just barely hitting the ground, but that's kind of fuzzy. And I remember a scream. But that's about it."

"Oh, that was me."

"Huh. Well yeah, it's kind of all a little blurry."

"Were you scared?"

"I don't know, I guess. I wasn't really thinking about it. It all happened really quickly."

"Oh..."

A moment of silence descended upon them and for a few long seconds they were left blankly staring at each other.

"San? What's wrong?" Brittany quietly asked.

"Huh? What do you mean?"

"Something's wrong. I can tell."

_Leave it to Brittany to know that something's not right with you._

"I—uh..."

"It's okay. You can tell me."

"I know. It's just kind of complicated."

"I don't mind."

"Alright, uhm, I just feel really bad." Santana sniffled and a fresh stream of tears escaped her eyes.

"Why?"

"Because. I feel guilty. Don't you remember what happened before the car? What led up to it?" She glanced downwards to avoid looking at Brittany.

"Oh, well yeah." Her words trailed off as she said them.

"It's all my fault."

"Don't say that, S."

Santana's body began to shake and she scrunched her eyes shut tightly to try and stop the onslaught of tears and sobs that were about to escape. She swallowed hard and bit down on the inside of her cheek in an attempt to distract herself from the oncoming emotions, but her efforts were useless.

"Oh, San," Brittany cooed, "shhhhhhhh. It's okay." Santana could feel the blonde's hot breath against her face as she tried to shush her.

"No, no it's not," she managed between sobs.

"Yes, it is. You never meant for this to happen. You never wanted any of it to." Brittany leaned over and brushed her best friend's bangs out of her face, wincing a little as she moved.

"No, I didn't..."

"See? Then it's not your fault."

"But I hurt you. If it wasn't for me, you wouldn't be in this situation. How can you even look at me right now? I would be so angry! You could have died, B! And all because of _me_. So I want to say that I'm really, really sorry. Like, you don't even know how sorry I am. I care about you so much and it killed me inside to see this happen to you and to know that it's partially my fault." She stopped to catch her breath before continuing, "Fuck, you mean so much to me and I just want to forget about all this shit and pretend none of it ever happened. I just hope you can forgive me and I really hope that you aren't ma—"

"Santana, I'm not mad at you."

* * *

**A/N: **You probably hate me for ending it there, but I had to so that this chapter wouldn't be a novel in length. So I want to start off by saying I apologize for this taking so long! This last week I've been so crazy busy and as much as I wanted to write, I just didn't have the time. And unfortunately, it looks like next week will be the same. I've got finals next week so I'd only expect like one chapter. But this is almost done, anyway. I hope you've all enjoyed it so far! I've certainly enjoyed writing it and reading your reviews. It's made me really happy. :)

One more thing: (SPOILER ALERT!)

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BRITTANA IS ON! HELL TO THE YES.


	12. The Remedy

**Warning: **Language  
**Note: **This jumps right in, so be prepared! Also, Brittany might seem a little OOC here. I really did my best to keep her true to her character, but it's so hard, particularly in this sort of circumstance where she needs to say what I want her to say.  
**Disclaimer: **Glee is not mine, yada, yada, yada. Title borrowed from Jason Mraz's 'The Remedy (I Won't Worry)'

* * *

The Remedy

"Wait, you're not mad?" Santana narrowed her eyes at Brittany and crossed her arms over her chest in typical bitch-fashion.

"No..." Brittany softly replied.

"Well, why the fuck not?" Her voice rose as she became increasingly frustrated with the blonde's strange reaction.

"San, shhh. Keep it down." Brittany held her right index finger to her lips and reached out to take Santana's hand with her left, but Santana swiftly shimmied away from the hand and lightly stepped off the bed.

"I would be fucking furious! But here you are, acting like it's not some big fucking deal! Brittany, you got hit by a fucking _car_ and, might I remind you, went into a fucking _coma—_all because _I_ was an inconsiderate fucking _bitch_ to you!" She was seething now, her chest noticeably rising and falling as all her stored up anger and stress escaped.

"San—" Brittany tried to squeeze in a word, but was quickly cut short.

"No! Don't you understand what I'm saying? This is _my fault. _My fault! You could have died! But you're brushing it off like it's nothing!" She paced along the side of Brittany's bed before stopping and turning to face Brittany again. "Please," her voice lowered itself and went back to its original quiet tone, "be mad at me."

She sounded so small and helpless as the last words left her throat that Brittany couldn't help but flash a soft smile in her friend's direction. Even when being directed at Brittany, those words were so absolutely uncharacteristic of Santana that the blonde could not help herself from feeling a little giddy. Santana was hardly ever modest about herself and rarely ever asked for help—she was incredibly stubborn—nor did she ever really take the blame for something even when it was her own fault. It was like watching a little kid try to do something that they've never done before and seeing them fail miserably—but look absolutely adorable at the same time.

"I can't be mad at you."

Santana let out an exasperated sigh before burying her face in her hands for a few moments. She groaned before letting her hands drop to her sides. "Well, why the fuck not?"

Had Santana been acting normally, she would have thrown her arms in the air frustratedly and yelled. Rather, the sentence came out softly and there was no dramatic limb movement involved. It was fairly easy to tell that she had meant for the statement to come out much more harshly, and thus, the use of her language, but instead it seemed that she had lost control of herself and her emotions as she struggled to keep from full-on sobbing once again.

"Because, San, I heard what you said earlier. I can't be mad at you after what you said."

"Wait. What stuff?"

"About how you love me a lot and feel bad and stuff. And that you won't let anything bad ever happen again."

Santana nearly fell over. _There was no way Brittany could have heard that. She was sleeping, or in a coma or whatever._

Not too much earlier, her heart felt like it had plummeted into her stomach, but now it felt like it had dropped down through her legs and into her feet, weighing them down so that she couldn't move._ No, that's impossible. She was unconscious, you saw it yourself!_

Summoning the strength to move her feet, she slowly began to approach the bed. "How in the hell did you know I said that? You—you—you were in a coma..."

"Well here's the thing," Brittany began nonchalantly, "I kind of heard everything you said. It was so weird. Like, at first, I started hearing bits and pieces of things, like random people talking and stuff. Then everything started to sound less fuzzy and I could hear my parents really clearly. I didn't understand what they were saying, though, or why they sounded so sad. I tried to open my eyes and tried to tell them that I was fine, that I was right here, but I couldn't move.

At first I thought it was a dream. I mean, it made sense because you came in and were talking to me and being really sweet—I dream about you like that," she added. "You were telling me you love me and that's always what happens in my dreams, but you...touched me." She stopped and scrunched her features so that lines appeared in her forehead. "I could feel you. Like, everything, and I mean _really_ feel you. It felt different than the way it does to get touched in a dream. In dreams, you can feel it but not as much, you know? And that's how I knew it wasn't a dream. I knew that what you were saying was real and what you were feeling was real." She looked up and blue eyes met brown. "You said you were sorry and you poured your heart out, San. Even though you didn't know that I could hear it, it still counts as an apology. And then you said you loved me. All those things, that's how a real best friend acts, and that's all I could ever ask for."

Santana's jaw was so slack it must have been on the floor. She tried to form a reply but all that came out was an unintelligible string of non-coherent syllables.

Brittany couldn't help but chuckle at the sight and she shrugged her shoulders like it was nothing.

"So you heard everything?" She finally managed.

"Mhm," Brittany replied. "Everything."

"Oh."

The room fell silent and Santana stood motionless. She didn't know how to feel about what she had just been told. Should she have been embarrassed? Should she regret saying all that? Or was it a good thing that Brittany had heard everything she had to say? It was all true, after all. It was certainly easier than saying all of that to her face when she woke up. It's not like she wouldn't have said it to an awake Brittany, it just, would have been different. A little awkward maybe, and much more situational. Who knows what she would have said had Brittany been fully awake and looking back at her? It could have been a completely different apology.

But this apology felt right. Everything about it—every word, every sentence, every tear—had been completely honest. Nothing had been exaggerated and one hundred percent of the time it had been her heart talking—not her scatterbrained head that could have been spitting out random crap due to all the anxiety she had been feeling.

No, she did not regret anything. And for that matter, the fact that Brittany had heard it—even when Santana hadn't intended her to—made it that much more honest and meaningful. Not to mention, Brittany forgave her. What more could she have asked for?

Instantly, another wave of guilt washed over her. Although this time, it was a completely different kind of guilt.

"I'm sorry I yelled at you, B. I didn't mean to lash out like that," she whispered, finding the courage to look the other girl straight in the eyes.

"That's okay."

"So you forgive me for yelling too?"

"Yup."

"Thanks."

"Mhm."

Although she felt better knowing that Brittany had forgiven her, another issue had begun niggling away at the back of her mind. Originally, she wanted to ignore it. It wasn't a conversation she was really looking forward to having, but she knew that she couldn't completely ignore it forever. Now seemed to be the ideal opportunity, though. No one was around, it was quiet, and they were being completely honest with one another.

_Ah, hell. Just go for it._

Santana climbed up onto the bed and sat down next to the dancer. Brittany painfully inched over a little, giving her more room and the two quickly settled in next to each other, their opposite shoulders, hips, and legs flush with one another.

Santana let out a tiny sigh that was practically inaudible before beginning.

"You know, I really do love you. I meant what I said."

"I know." Brittany exhaled a throaty chuckle before smiling over at Santana. "I think everyone knows." Seeing the somewhat alarmed look on the Latina's face, Brittany quickly added, "And I love you too."

Santana's face relaxed a little and she stared down and across their bodies to the foot of the bed.

"Well, speaking of that, there's something I kind of want to talk to you about."

"More? San, I might fall asleep at any moment."

"I know you're tired, but please just hear me out. It's important and I know it matters to you, I swear."

"Alright, fine," Brittany breathed.

Santana swallowed the lump in her throat before she continued.

"So you remember what we talked about in the bathroom?"

"Yeah..."

"The part before you, er, stormed out."

"Uh huh. Oh! I'm sorry about what happened before that. I think I was just really," she paused before turning to Santana, "overwhelmed?"

Santana nodded.

"Overwhelmed from Azimio and Karofsky, and then before that when you weren't there to get me. I was just scared. So I'm sorry for freaking out on you."

"That's alright. And _I'm_ sorry that I wasn't there to meet you. My bitch of a teacher wouldn't let me out of class. I even pulled the 'hematologist' card, and she still wouldn't buy it."

"Damn." The blonde muttered under her breath.

"Yeah, I know, but we need to talk about what you said about me."

There was silence.

"You know, about having...feelings...for me," Santana said slowly and cautiously, as if testing the waters of the words that she had never even considered using consecutively.

"Oh." Brittany looked uncertain, and so Santana met her eyes. When the blonde quickly looked away, the Latina lifted a finger to her chin and used it to angle her head so that once again their gazes were level with one another.

"Are you sure you want to talk about that?" The dancer asked meekly.

"Yep, we need to talk."

"Well, what what is there to talk about?" Her voice was still quiet and she sounded a bit anxious.

"Let's start with how long this has been going on for."

Brittany sighed. "I don't know. We've been best friends for a brazilian years, and like, we're really close to each other, and sometimes it just seems natural to feel more than that. Do you know what I'm saying?"

"I guess—"

"It's just that you understand me more than anyone else. People don't understand that sometimes I'm a little...slower than others; that sometimes I need some extra help with stuff. But you do. You don't judge me for all the weird stuff I say and you're patient with me. You've always been that way—since the day I met you. You see in me what others don't, stuff that sometimes _I_ can't even see, and that's what I love about you. You love me for me, flaws and everything.

Whenever I need someone to be there for me, you've always been there. Whether it's been boy troubles, or when I don't understand something, or when Coach Sylvester is on my ass about one thing or another, or like when Karofksy and Azimio were making fun of me. You were there to save the day. You're like my knight in shining armor. You always have been—and I hope you always will be." Brittany's cheeks lit up a bright shade of pink and she tried to avert Santana's gaze, but the darker-haired girl quickly guided her focus back into place.

"And I will be. I can promise you that. But how does that affect 'us'?"

"You know how I can't count higher than like, twenty?"

"You're being modest, but yes."

"Well I would never be able to count all the things that I love about you, San. That number's too high for me. And all those things I just said about you, that's hardly any. I could go on for so long. We'd be here forever. And do you know how long forever is, San? It's a really long time."

Santana smiled and laughed under her breath, "Yeah, I've heard."

"All those things I love about you, the way you make me feel when I'm around you, it's more than I've ever felt with any boyfriend or any other person. You make me feel so good when we're with each other and I like feeling that way. We're always together and whenever we're not, I'm missing you and wishing we were.

Whenever I think about my future, it's always changing. Sometimes I'm a dancer and touring the world with Beyonce, sometimes I'm a secret agent spying on bad guys and wearing sexy clothes, and sometimes I'm a motocross champion! But one thing's always the same. Whenever I picture my future, you're always there. I can't imagine living my life without you, S. I know that you always tell me it's a 'childish-high-school' thing to say, but I want to spend the rest of my life with you. Because I can't imagine how it would be without you.

That's what you feel when you really love someone, and not just in the friendly kind of way. When you love someone, you love them no matter what. There's no 'ifs' or 'buts'. You love them for _everything _they do and say. Love means you support them through anything, no matter the consequences. And that's how I feel about you. I'll do anything for you, San.

I guess what I'm trying to say is that you make me happy. That's the most important thing about a relationship—being happy. Why should it matter who's in the relationship? A boy and a girl, two boys, two girls, two best friends—why should it matter as long as everyone's happy?"

Santana was silent for a few moments. Her head was spinning from trying to absorb everything that Brittany had just said to her. Sure, she knew that Brittany felt that way about her before, but hearing it directly from her was a whole new ballgame. There was so much truth to it all—so much of it that she agreed with. Particularly the last sentence. Love is love, regardless of who's receiving it and who's giving it.

The Latina never had an issue with people being gay. She wasn't homophobic or anything. Sure, she made fun of Kurt on a daily basis, but that was all fun and games. It was always her personal mantra when it came to the subject that she didn't really care. '_Whatever floats your boat, right?'_

"Please say something."

Brittany's voice snapped her out of her thought-reverie and brought her back to the situation.

"I—uh...you're right. It shouldn't matter. I just...don't know how I feel about something more than being just friends. I mean, what's wrong with what we have now?"

"Nothing's wrong with what we have now. But if you think about it, if we were to get together, what would actually change? Not a lot. San, we don't really act like typical BFFs around each other."

"Yeah, I've noticed."

"But haven't you ever just thought about 'what if'?"

Santana swallowed hard and let out a loud sigh.

"Well, to be honest, after you left me in the bathroom yesterday, I stayed in there for a while and thought about what you said. I guess I never really took the time to see what was right in front of me. I should have known that you felt this way. It was obvious and apparently everyone else but me saw it. I think I was in denial—too scared about what others would think about me if there was an us."

"You need to forget about everyone else. Listen to what your heart tells you."

"That sounded really corny, B." Santana chuckled, trying to lighten the mood and distract herself from the weird emotions and feelings she was experiencing.

"Yeah, I know," Brittany joined in, "but it's true. What do you want? What would make you happiest?"

"That's just it. I don't know what I want! I'm so confused lately. I try to think about what it would be like if we were together and I can't help but feel happy inside knowing that you'd be _mine_. I'm already possessive enough with you, if you haven't noticed. I just can't help but wonder."

"It's okay to be curious."

"But is it? I'm not gay! I never have been. I've never had feelings for a girl, but then you come along, and all of a sudden, BOOM! You say one thing to me and this comes out of nowhere and it's really confusing me. Is it possible to be attracted to a girl without being bisexual or a lesbian? Am I allowed to do that? Be straight with an exception?"

"Why does it matter what you are? You don't need to label yourself. Just do what feels right."

She shook her head and brought her hands up to her forehead and began to rub her aching temples. "The more I think about it, the more I realize that I feel _different_ around you too. Like, I don't even know how to describe it. It's something that I've never experienced before and it makes me feel really weird and apprehensive. I've never felt this way around anyone else."

"I understand," Brittany said, reaching over and gently taking a darker hand in hers. "It's okay to feel that way."

"I don't like feeling this way, though. There's so much going on inside my head and it's all really confusing! I know that I love you. You're my best friend, and I love you that way. But the more that I think about it, the more I realize that maybe I love, er, _could _love you more than that. And you don't know how much that scares me." A lone tear slid slid down her cheek.

"Aww, San. It's alright to be scared," the Dutch girl cooed.

"Is it? You're the most important person in my life, Britt—my best friend. Is it okay to be in love with your best friend?" Santana was on the verge of a breakdown, her emotions chaotically scurrying through her mind. She was nearly at her breaking point: her frustration, apprehension, and anxiety all butting heads.

Brittany opened her mouth to speak but suddenly shut it. Then, her eyes brightened and her lips spread into a giant smile.

Santana raised a questioning eyebrow at the beaming girl. "What?"

"So you're in love with me?"

"I—I—I don't know."

"You said you're in love with me." Brittany continued to beam back at Santana with a smug look plastered all over her face.

"I don't know. It just kind of came out. I wasn't really thinking." Her voice was barely above a whisper as she conceded to the blonde.

"Then it's true! If you weren't even thinking about it, it had to be your heart talking."

"I don't know..." she mumbled.

Suddenly and without any warning at all, taking Santana completely by surprise, Brittany came swooping in and planted a soft kiss atop her lips. The quickness that had been used in the surprise sneak attack was all but gone as the actual kiss itself was slow and gentle. Brittany let her lips linger against the Latina's, all the while being careful not to overdo it in fear of scaring her away.

Santana was caught completely off-guard, but following the first few moments when their lips met, she relaxed a little. Although the kiss lasted only a few brief seconds before the instigator pulled away, she couldn't help but feel a little inkling of happiness amidst all the conflicting feelings of confusion and surprise. It just felt..._right_.

* * *

**A/N: **Hey, hey, looky there. ;)

I'm alive and have made it through finals! So here's your proof. I have nothing to say other than I hope you all enjoyed and I'm thinking there's going to be just two more chapters.

Please review and let me know your thoughts! Thanks. :)


	13. Kiss

**Warning: **Language  
**Disclaimer: **Glee is not mine. If it was, Bartie would not exist in your vocabulary.

* * *

Kiss

Brittany pulled back and smiled warmly yet somewhat smugly over at Santana. Throughout most of their conversation her eyes had been a little droopy and foggy from sleep, but now they were bright and radiant. Any hints of prior exhaustion were all but gone.

Every inch of her felt odd. Santana's heart was beating faster than what seemed like humanely possible. In fact, her whole chest felt like it could have been vibrating from the adrenaline-fueled, pulsating organ. In her stomach it felt like a swarm of butterflies had been let loose and were hopelessly fluttering around in an attempt to find some nonexistent means of escape. Even her hand—that Brittany had been holding for the last few minutes—felt warm and when she concentrated she could feel the quick but steady drum of her pulse in the pads of her fingers. And then there was her lips. Her lips tingled in a way that no person had ever made her feel before. They felt soft and moist and although it confused her, she immediately missed the warm, comforting contact they had just been deprived of.

Sure, she had kissed Brittany before. But this, this was different. This time, there was no ulterior motive. This wasn't just some ploy to get boys. No, this was honest and real. And she was perfectly sober. They both were.

Then, the reality of the situation hit.

She, Santana Lopez, had just (soberly) been kissed by one Brittany S. Pierce—and she had kind of enjoyed it.

"Wha—what was that?" She stammered awkwardly. Her voice was low and she didn't know where to put her gaze. She tried looking the girl in the eyes, but immediately felt a red heat crawl up her neck and cheeks. She then averted her stare, but instantly felt bad for being immature about the situation.

Brittany's smile widened (if it was even possible) at Santana's dumbfounded expression. She shrugged her shoulders. "I don't know. I just felt like kissing you. That's what people do when they love each other."

_That's it? That's all she has to say? She makes everything seem so simple._

The fact that Brittany was so nonchalant about everything was something that Santana truly envied her for. She was always so uptight about everything. Sure, she made fun of and cracked jokes at everyone else, but when it came time to be serious or for taking it rather than dishing it out, every little thing thing was always so deadpan. It was merely instinct to analyze every this and that. Often times, she overanalyzed. She made small things into big things when there was really no excuse or reasoning to overreact. It was then that Santana wished that if there was ever a moment where she could not scrutinize every little detail of something and for once just go with the flow, that time would be now.

Her entire face felt hot and she was quickly growing embarrassed at the thought of how red her cheeks probably were. Self-consciously, she lowered her stare and chewed on the inside of her lip.

The blonde next to her let out a sudden snort and then instantly went into a fit of happy laughter.

Her stomach did a somersault at the sound. It was a noise that for most of the previous day she had wanted and needed to hear. Just being able to hear Brittany be so undeniably happy and to see her smile once again after all that she had gone through pulled at Santana's heartstrings. A wave of utter joy whirled through her body and made her feel even warmer than the heat of of the prior embarrassment. The feeling ultimately prompted an uncontrollable smile that tugged at one corner of her lips.

Quickly remembering her current ordeal, she put the kibosh on the smile and returned her expression to one of indifferent confusion. She hoped that she had done so discreetly enough so that Brittany had not seen. Especially when she didn't know how to react to the kiss, she didn't want to give the girl the wrong idea.

Resuming her confounded tone, she replied to the girl's sudden laughter. "What?"

When Brittany did not respond and continued to laugh, she lightly smacked the girl on the knee with the back of her hand. "Hey! Keep it down, someone's going to hear!"

The blonde covered her mouth and although the chuckles became much quieter, they nonetheless continued.

"What are you laughing at?" Santana exclaimed.

"You," she spluttered through giggles.

"Why? What did I do?"

Brittany sat up a little straighter before replying, "You liked it!"

"What? How do you know that?"

The laughter stopped.

"Because San," she angled her body to face Santana yet again, "I know you. I can just tell."

Was she really that easy to read? Was it her facial expression? Her body language? What was it about her that gave it away? Had Brittany seen that kamikaze little smile and mistaken it for a reaction to the kiss? No, she was laughing before that. _Her laugh was what made you smile in the first place, Lopez. _So what was it?

Maybe the logical explanation had nothing to do with physical appearances. Perhaps it was exactly as Brittany put it. '_I know you. I can just tell._' This was coming from the girl that said some of the strangest, yet oddly adorable, things. A girl that confused the words 'hypocrite' and 'hippogriff', that was considered by many to be clinically insane, but one nonetheless that could read someone like a book, that could see your true feelings, that knew when something was bothering you, that knew when things just weren't right—even someone as hard and rock-solid as the HBIC Santana.

Maybe that was just it. Brittany was Brittany, and Brittany knew Santana.

"I, uh...I just—"

"Stop." Brittany held up a finger and pressed it to the Latina's lips.

When Santana's blubberings ceased, the finger was lowered and once again she was left to speak. "I'm sorry, I just don't really know what to say."

"You don't have to say anything."

"But—"

"You know, you can kiss me if you want to."

That sentence thrust her heart into overdrive. Santana Lopez did not like pressure, and right then and there, she was feeling the pressure. If she did something as seemingly small as lean in and kiss her best friend, everything could change. Everything _would_ change. Was that something she was ready for, though? Could she handle the public scrutiny? The gay jokes, the laughs in the halls, constantly being under the bully radar? Would it be worth it all?

_Of course it would. She's worth it; Brittany is worth it._

What would change, though? The way people looked at her? The way she looked at Brittany? What about the way she treated others? Would she lose everything she had fought so hard for? Her reputation, her friends, would her family accept her? She had so many questions buzzing around inside her head. She hated it. She hated the uncertainty of not knowing what consequences her actions may have. What would happen if she kissed her? What would happen if she didn't?

'_You know, you can kiss me if you want to._'

One question, however, seemed to reign precedent over them all. Out of all the shit that was piling up in her brain, making her feel light-headed and clouding her thoughts, one question that seemed to come from her heart rather than brain, was shoving all others to the side and making its way to the front of the chaotic and mob-like queue of questions and doubts.

Did she _want_ to kiss her?

She thought back to the feeling of the supple, warm lips against her own, the warm, light-skinned hand covering hers, and that surprising feeling of comfort that surrounded her while in the midst of a tender kiss with one Brittany S. Pierce.

Did she want to? Oh, hell to the yes did she ever! The more she thought about it, the more she realized how _good_ it made her feel. She felt safe, protected, warm, and most of all _happy._ Brittany had a point earlier, being happy is the most important part of a relationship. So what did it matter who she was kissing as long as she was happy? It shouldn't. And what more did it matter that by chance the person she was kissing just happened to be her best friend? It didn't. In fact, it made everything that much better.

_Go for it, Santana. Goddamn go fucking for it._

For the first time in a matter of moments she looked over into Brittany's eyes. Brown met blue and their gazes locked for a few unbroken seconds. As she stared into those oceans of blue, she couldn't help but realize how much she had missed them. They were so amazing; it was no wonder that even before this point she had been able to see that.

Swallowing hard, she leaned in slowly toward the blonde. As the space between them minimized, the pounding in her chest grew faster. Their faces were just inches apart, both sets of eyes slowly closing as the space between them diminished. Santana captured the blonde's lips with her own, and having successfully met her lips to Brittany's, her body relaxed itself and she was left to linger in the moment.

The kiss itself was sweet and innocent. They each moved their lips slowly and tenderly, exploring the crevices and angles of each other's mouths. There was no hungry desire to deepen the lip-lock or to take anything beyond the realms of a chaste kiss. No, their pacing felt right. Her body was enveloped in a sea of warm and her previous mosh-pit of a brain was quelled as a hazy fog filled it and left her feeling relaxed and confident. In that moment, Santana wanted nothing but to stay that way forever.

She felt Brittany smile into the kiss and it made her heart flutter to think about. Brittany's lips tasted so good, too. Even after being in a coma for hours, they still tasted like her favorite flavor of Lip Smackers.

This time, their kiss lasted much longer. It wasn't until Brittany slowly pulled away did their contact breach. Gazing at the Latina with soft, gentle eyes, she smiled warmly and said, "See? I told you you liked it."

Santana ran a hand through her dark hair and laughed under her breath. Brittany really did know her better than anyone else. She watched the girl reposition her torso and lean back. She winced and exhaled sharply.

"What is it?"

"My chest hurts, that's all." Squeezing her eyes shut tightly, she did not open them until her body was flat against the bed.

Santana followed suit and laid down next to the blonde. Cautiously she wrapped her arms around the girl and snuggled up next to her.

"I missed you," she said softly.

"San, it wasn't even a whole day."

"I know, but it felt like longer."

It was silent for a long time before either of them spoke again.

"Brittany?" Santana whispered, not wanting to wake the tired girl from her potential slumber.

"Mmm?" The reply was audible, although she sounded half-asleep.

"Where do we go from here?"

"Don't worry about it, San. We'll figure it out."

There was another brief silence.

"I love you, B. I hope you know that."

At first there was no reply. She assumed that Brittany had fallen asleep until the sound of a loud exhale interrupted the silence from Brittany's side.

"I know, S. I've known for a lot longer than you have."

* * *

**A/N: **I hope that was fluffy enough for all of you! I'm sorry about the delay. Normally I have the update out by Sunday morning (PST). I miss the days where I was able to update this everyday. :( Unfortunately, school pretty much runs my life lately. Just one more chapter, though! Hopefully I'll have it up by Sunday.

Here's your challenge: Can you find the line I borrowed from Season 1? Here's a hint: Rachel said it to Finn.

Please review! I really appreciate any and all feedback, even if it's just one word! Constructive criticism is cool, too!


	14. Moments

**Warning: **1.5 super brief uses of language**  
Disclaimer: **Glee is not mine  
**Note: **I want to apologize for taking so long to get this chapter out. I have been very busy with school, but thankfully I have this entire week off. I actually had the final chapter written, but I hated every last bit of it almost as much as a I despise Bartie. So...surprise! You get an extra chapter! I threw this together, it's short and entirely filler, though. Anyways, on with the story!

* * *

Moments

The girls spent the next few days together at the hospital. Nearly every waking second that doctors weren't running tests or kicking her out of the room, Santana remained glued to Brittany's side. They were literally inseparable. The Latina regarded each and every moment with the blonde as a precious necessity after what she could only explain as the worst kind of loneliness. When her parents made a remark about their daughter's lack of home-presence, she brushed it off lightly and said that she was simply making up for lost time—despite that her time spent with post-unconscious Brittany vastly outweighed the time spent with unconscious Brittany.

The moment that a nurse had found Brittany awake had been less than ideal, but moving all at the same time. It had happened only a matter of minutes after both girls had fallen asleep. Brittany, on one hand, slept like a rock and was out like a light immediately following their conversation. Santana, on the other, had spent the next few hours lying awake next to the sleeping girl's warm body, going over the night's occurrences in her head. She was beyond tired—hell, she was exhausted—but the amount of overwhelming feelings and thoughts cascading through her brain left her head spinning and subsequently drove away the desire to sleep. It wasn't until the shock died down was she finally able to settle her mind and relax. When at long last she felt the wave of exhaustion consume her senses, she fell asleep with a soft smile splayed across her features.

No more than five minutes after she was asleep, though, a grumpy-looking nurse entered the room. With all intent of asking the Latina to leave, she began to approach the dually-occupied bed. However, the nurse nearly fell over in surprise when a groggy Brittany sat up and asked for a glass of water. The woman let out a startled shriek, thrusting Santana from her much-needed state of sleep and practically caused her to fall off the bed.

The next few moments had been chaotic. Suddenly there were multiple nurses rushing into the room. They swarmed around Brittany like a pack of hungry wolves and began asking the girl—who was still half-asleep and looking semi-confused—a number of questions regarding how she was feeling, what hurt, if she remembered her own name, and so forth. Without realizing it until she was standing on her own two feet, Santana was dragged out of the bed and was left feeling cold and tired. She sighed, missing the feeling of unconsciousness and the warmth of Brittany's body snuggled next to hers. Even in light of what happened that night, if there was one thing Santana Lopez had learned over the years, it was that Brittany-cuddles were indeed amazing. To be pried away from such a thing, particularly in her sleepy state, was near grounds for all hell breaking loose. Had she not been so incredibly exhausted _and_ in a federally funded building, that very well could have been the case.

The time following involved nurses and doctors repeatedly leaving and reentering the room to handle the "recently" conscious Brittany. Despite their protests and demands for her to leave, Santana silently looked on through tired eyes from a small armchair in the corner of the room. She was not about to leave Brittany—not yet at least. She wasn't ready for that.

Shortly after the discovery of Brittany's consciousness, the Pierces arrived at the hospital and came bolting into the room. They threw their arms around their daughter and within seconds both were in tears. Mrs. Pierce was incoherently babbling about how much she loved her daughter and how worried she had been through a near-violent fit of sobs while Mr. Pierce silently refused to break physical contact with the blonde. Santana found the spectacle somewhat sickening, yet at the same time, it warmed her heart and nearly brought tears to her own eyes to see how much love the Pierces had for their eldest child. If there was ever a test to determine who loved Brittany more, there was no doubt in Santana's mind that it would come down to an epic battle royale between herself and the Pierces. In regards to whoever was more likely to win, it was safe to say that although she did not doubt the endless love she felt for the girl, she wasn't afraid to fight dirty.

Much to her parents extreme disapproval, Santana absolutely refused to go to school. She skipped on a regular basis, so what difference did it make that she missed the rest of the week? Especially when she had an actual reason this time; that reason being much more important than anything McKinley could ever offer her. Brittany didn't seem to mind either. She enjoyed spending the entire day with her best friend—it definitely beat hanging out in the hospital alone and bored out of her mind for days on end.

Regardless of what had happened, Santana would have been next to Brittany the entire time. It didn't matter what happened, whose fault it was, why it happened, or for how long. All of that was irrelevant. She would willing drop anything and everything if Brittany needed her. She would willingly and eagerly drop anything and everything _even if she_ _wasn't_ needed; all because Brittany was worth it. Brittany was her girl—plain and simple as that. 'Her girl' was loosely defined, but that in itself was also irrelevant. The important part was that they were together; that they could laugh and link pinkies and just be genuinely happy being in the presence of one another.

* * *

**A/N: PLEASE READ!**

So as I mentioned above, you all get an extra chapter. And as a reward for all the amazing feedback and reception to this fic, I want to give you guys a chance to give me some input on the official final chapter. I'm writing this for you guys just as much as I'm writing it for myself, so let me know, what do you want to happen? Obviously I will be incorporating as much as I deem fit into what I have planned now, but I'm really looking for input on how you'd like to see this end. So feel free to give me any and all suggestions you may have! The fluffier, the better, as always. ;)


	15. Epilogue

**Warning: **Brief language  
**Disclaimer: **I do not own Glee.

* * *

Epilogue

"Hey, San?"

"Hm?"

"Do you know why ducks fly south for the winter?"

"No, do I look like some sort of avian expert to you?"

"Because it's too far to walk!"

Santana raised a questioning eyebrow at her blonde best friend as she watched her break into a violent fit of laughter. While she took in the girl's smiling, bright features, she couldn't help but let a small smile of her own play at her lips as she resumed her stare straight ahead.

The two girls were finally back at school. It was their first day back, and although Brittany was feeling infinitely better—the headaches were gone, she no longer limped from the sprained ankle, and the side of her face wasn't scabbed over _too _badly—she wasn't completely back to herself. Unhidden by her far-from-modest Cheerios uniform, the bruises left by the car were all too visible and turning a sickening shade of green. Not to mention the slowly fading outlines of the seemingly endless amount of cuts and scrapes, some of which had scabbed over and left purple-tinted bits of skin all over her arms and knees.

Brittany was usually not one to get self-conscious. A little nervous, sometimes, but never self-conscious. In fact, she was one of the most confident people the Latina knew. However, she had voiced to Santana during their time in the hospital that she was uncomfortable with her current appearance and had been feeling a little off-putted about returning to McKinley.

"_What do you mean you're embarrassed?"_

"_San, you've seen me._ _I mean, look at my face. I don't feel very cute with half my face scraped off."_

"_Speaking of that, remind me to help you put the rest of it back on after I peel it off the pavement on Monday."_

"_Hey!" Brittany huffed as she crossed her arms over her chest and looked away. But the more she tried to avert the Latina's watchful eyes and sly smirk, the harder it was for her to hold back the smile that tugged at the corners of her lips._

"_Ah, see!" Santana continued to grin smugly as the blonde all-too-obviously tried to hide the small smile._

"_What?"_

"_With a smile like that, who's going to notice? All I see is a beautiful girl with a grin up to her ears."_

"_Jesus christ! My smile is _that _big? Who the hell am I? __Kyra Sedgwick?__" She quickly brought her hand to her face and began to feel for a nonexistent, giant mouth._

"_You're way too adorable for your own good, you know that?" Santana said through a breathy laugh. She gently pried Brittany's hand from her face, laced their fingers together, and rested their intertwined digits on the blonde's lap. With her other hand she began to absentmindedly play with the girl's soft blonde hair._

"_It's not just my face, though, San. My arms and legs look like I got in a fight with a blender—and lost. And it's not like I can hide them or cover them up. I have to wear my uniform. Coach Sylvester would kill me if I didn't."_

_Santana shook her head. "Naw! I mean, girl! Have you _seen_ your body? Babe, you've got it going on in _all _the right places. Trust me, that's the last thing they'll be looking at." She wriggled her eyebrows playfully._

"_Well, you kind of have a point."_

"_Of course I do."_

"_But what if they don't see either of those? I don't want them to stare at me. Not like that, at least."_

"_Okay." She removed her hand from Brittany's hair and held up a finger. Her voice took on its usual bitch-tone, but maintained an obvious trace of sarcasm. "First of all, that's not going to happen. And __second, even if it did happen, I'd go all Lima Heights Adjacent on their asses. Trust me, they'd look _much_ worse than this," she motioned to right side of Brittany's face, "and then they'll be the ones people stare at."_

_Brittany chuckled and smiled at her friend._

"_Sound good?"_

"_Yup," she nodded. "Just promise me one thing, though."_

"_What?"_

"_When we go back to school, don't leave me."_

_Santana's eyes softened as blue met chocolate and she felt her muscles go lax. It felt like her heart had melted inside her chest. Leaning over, she placed a soft, gentle kiss on the girl's forehead. "Never."_

Santana had taken the liberty to drive Brittany to school that day. There was no way she was going to go back on her promise. Except for the classes they didn't share, she refused to let Brittany out of her sight. It was quite obvious when they stepped out of the car that morning that the dancer was indeed feeling distraught about her appearance. A look of nervous uneasiness had been written all over her normally cheerful face. It was at that moment that Santana decided that she was going to commit herself to keeping the blonde focused on anything but her image; anything to keep her from having to see any more looks of discontent from the blonde. She'd had enough of that over the last week to last a lifetime. With a brief encouraging squeeze of the hand, Santana began to lead them into the school. All the while she walked she did not once stop talking. She was officially a distraction.

So while they made their way to class after lunch, Santana was overjoyed to just hear Brittany ramble. She had yet to hear one single complaint nor seen any look of even remote discomfort cross her face. Her mission was turning out to be a success.

As they walked, the two unconsciously swung their adjoining hands—linked at the pinkies—back and forth. While she continued to listen to Brittany's loud, bubbly laughter, she couldn't refrain from widening her smile and giving the blonde's pinky a light squeeze. Brittany did not seem to notice either action, though, as she was still engulfed by laughter over the punchline of her own joke.

Suddenly, however, the laughter was interrupted by a spluttering, "OOF!" and Santana quickly looked over to see Brittany grab at her side with her unoccupied hand. The girl bit the corner of her lower lip and scrunched one eye shut as a sharp pain in her right side overtook her.

"Ribs again?" Santana asked, raising an eyebrow and looking up at Brittany in concern.

"Mhm," she blubbered.

"Girl, you've got to cut down on the jokes. You're going to give yourself a hernia."

"A herni-what?" Brittany asked, unscrunching her face and leveling her breath as the pain subsided.

"A hernia."

"Bless you."

The Latina was unable to stop herself as she let out a surprised snort. "Thanks," she said, albeit sarcastically.

"You're welcome," Brittany deadpanned, unable to hear the sarcasm in her friend's voice. "So, San," she continued, "did you watch One Tree Hill last night? Nathan and Haley are so cute!"

"Um, B, does _anyone_ watch that show anymore? What are they on? Their twentieth season or something?"

"Eighth. And yes, I do!"

"Ugh, you know I hate it when you talk about," she shuddered, "Naley."

"Oh, yeah. I forgot. Sorry."

"That's okay."

A comfortable silence fell over them for the next few moments while they continued their slow traipse through the halls toward their next class. The bell signaling that class was to start in the next few minutes sounded and the halls immediately filled as people began to head to their respective classes.

"San?"

"Hm?"

"I take it back."

"What? You hate Naley? You think One Tree Hill is a waste of life and the CW should just put everyone out of their misery and cancel it?"

"Oh, no." She laughed quietly under her breath and scratched at the back of her neck awkwardly. "Not exactly. I was talking about what I said last week. Remember what I said about being in an open relationship?"

"That?" She raised a question eyebrow. "Yeah, and I remember quite clearly what I said about it too. But whatever you want to do. It's your life. It's up to you to decide what you want to do with it."

"Oh, well that's what I wanted to talk to you about. You see, last night I broke it off with Wes Brody and my cat. And apparently I never told my motocross coach that we were dating because when I called him to tell him that we were over, he sounded really confused and eventually just hung up on me..." She shrugged her shoulders nonchalantly. "But yeah, that whole thing about me not wanting to be exclusive, I take it back."

"Oh yeah? So why the change the of heart?"

"Remember when I said that people are going to think I'm awesome and have super mad game? Well, when they find out who I'm going to date next, they're going to think my game is even more off the chain—like I had to save up all my awesome from each person I was dating and channel it into this next person because only a person with infinitely awesome game could ever be with them!"

"Damn, that's a lot of awesome."

"I know. Pimpin' aint easy, girl."

"I can't believe this person is making my Britts commit. They must really be worth it then."

"Oh, they totally are.

Santana looked up at Brittany. "And who might this person be?"

Brittany tore her stare from straight ahead and looked down to meet the gaze of the Latina attached to her side. A small, warm smile gently creeped over her lips and Santana felt the grip on her pinky tighten as the blonde gave it a soft squeeze.

Her body filled with warmth as she studied Brittany's face. Inside her stomach little happy butterflies were fluttering around—but it was far from the uncomfortable, manic feeling that she got whenever she was nervous. No, these were good butterflies and she liked them. They were invited anytime.

In that moment there really was no way to describe how she felt. For the first time in what felt like a really long time, she wasn't experiencing conflicting feelings. There was no internal battle of emotions or morals echoing in her brain—no empty, cold feeling in her heart.

All there was was a light giddiness in her stomach and a warmth that seemed to radiate through every inch of her being. The thinning crowd of people surrounding them was irrelevant and had all but vanished from her senses. All there was—was Brittany.

Santana's eyes instantly softened when they locked with the blonde's. A soft, innocent smile spread over her lips. "I think they'll like that."

As the words left her mouth, the pair found themselves outside their fourth period classroom. However, instead of going in, Santana gently tugged Brittany aside. They stood a few feet away from the closed door, out of the way of the occasionally bypasser (the halls were all but empty and the bell was due to ring any minute) and out of view from any curious eyes watching from inside the classroom.

"Why aren't we going in?"

"I need to do something first."

"Hm?"

"Listen, Britt. I didn't really want to bring this up and get you thinking about it right now, but I have to say it."

"What is it, San?"

"I know I've said it probably a million times by now, and you're probably tired of hearing it, but I just wanted to say that I'm really glad you're okay."

"I—"

"And that we're okay."

There was a short pause where neither of the two said anything. Eventually, Brittany broke the silence.

"Honestly, S, I think we're better than okay. I think we've always been better than okay." She reached out a hand and lightly brushed Santana's bangs out of her face. "And I'll never get tired of hearing you say that."

The Latina smiled even wider up at the blonde before gracefully wrapping her arms around the tall girl's neck. She nuzzled her head into Brittany's neck as she felt soft, secure arms gently wrap around her back.

The bell rang, but the two stayed like that for a long time. Neither wanted to move. They felt warm, safe, and above all—happy. Santana merely stood there, embracing her best friend, inhaling the scent of her skin, and taking comfort in the most important person she had ever known. Everything about it felt right.

Eventually, though, she did unravel herself from around the dancer. But not before taking the time to softly capture Brittany's lips with her own. As before, the kiss was neither deep nor rushed. It was slow, gentle—innocent. Santana let her lips linger against Brittany's for a few moments before pulling away.

She looked up at Brittany, her face incredibly lit up by the smallest, but happiest of smiles. Brittany stared back at her with much of the same humbly radiant expression. "Thank you," Santana mouthed.

Brittany nodded in response. "Thank _you_." Reaching out, she took her friend's hand and gave it a small squeeze before linking their pinkies and guiding them into their classroom.

* * *

**A/N: **Well, my fellow readers. That's all she wrote. A bit of an anti-climatic ending, but I wanted to leave it fairly open ended. I will let your imagination decide their fates.  
Basically, I'd like to say thank you for taking the time to read this. And a big, extra special thank you to those who constantly reviewed and stuck with me through this entire thing. You know who you are.  
I am still amazed by the reaction that this fic has received. You have no idea what it has done for my confidence as a writer. I definitely will not be stopping here. Although I do need a break. School destroys my soul.  
If you liked this, then I'd say go check out my other stuff. My writing has changed a lot though, and just a warning, this is probably the happiest thing I've written. There's something wrong with me, I think. I can't help but write depressing stuff. My recommendations are that you read "My Brittany" and then "You're Not Alone" if you like that. You can really see the progression of my writing. I have another fic, entitled "The Familiar Taste of Poison" that is the oldest of all my fics, but I never finished it. It depressed me way too much. (Although I did successfully predict Brittany singing Tik Tok.) Yes, I'm psychic like that. So I'm not going to recommend it, but you may read it if you'd like. They're all Brittana-centric, although the relationship between the two of them varies based on the story. But enough of me whoring my work.

Also, did you like my OTH/Naley remark? I felt the need to bash after the E! Poll. If you're part of the Brittana community (particularly Tumblr) you'll know what I'm talking about.  
Again, a big thank you to everyone who read. Feel free to drop a review, I'd love to hear your reactions. Maybe even follow me on Tumblr. Link on my profile. Just remember: It's on. It was always on.


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